Brotherhood
by Pratfall
Summary: After a young Prowl gets sent to a correctional facility, life gets a little more exciting when he falls in with two felons on a road trip of Cybertron just before the war. (Intertwining AU backstories told in 500-plus word snippets. Part of the Transcender series, but can be read alone.)
1. Backwards

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Jazz is a bad influence._

* * *

" **Backwards"**

 **~Present times On the Ark~**

Upon entering Prowl's quarters, the resident saboteur stepped over a board game and the two younglings sprawled around it before plopping on his friend's berth. "Hiyah."

Prowl sat up groggily, "Jazz, what—are you overcharged?"

"Nah not yet." He looked down at the neon pink cube in his servo. "Limit's twelve."

"And you've had?"

"Ten."

"And you're still standing... why do you always come here?'" Jazz slipped to the floor with a thunk, "Cuz yah Don gimme dat sad look Prahm doez an 'Hide just tries tah out drink meh." He tossed a second cube up to him, "'Ere yah go."

Prowl smirked, his accent always got thicker when he was more relaxed. The Polyhexian wasn't so far gone he didn't remember he couldn't have high-grade, though. It was a courtesy move shown by the mid-grade in his lap. "Oh, so we're celebrating our first meeting?"

"Ya. Yah mah bestie and anythangs a good scuse for a party." Then he began a song inappropriate for any age that made Prowl glad the two on the floor were in recharge. The Praxian rolled his optics at their old chant, "Performing those lyrics is going to be difficult. We _are_ enforcers."

"Oh. Shoot. Well scrap dah cons and," he sobered momentarily, "And Lockdown while we're at it."

Prowl glowered, "Now that I don't mind."

 **~Fifteen Vorns Ago, Cybertron~**

"Until you learn to control yourself you will stay here."

Icy blue optics that matched the elder ones that glared back, "I don't want any part of your control."

"Very well." And the mech that he so closely mirrored left.

Prowl shrank in on himself as he was led down the bright halls of the juvenile detention center by two guards and his over-sized doorwings shuddered as last the door to the outside world slammed shut.

"Wasn't that Praxus' chief?" One of the mechs queried.

The other guard nodded, "This is his youngling."

"Sheesh, kid, what'd you do?"

"It's none of your business."

That earned him a helm shove from the second guard. "Mouthed off to the High Protector, caused a buncha shame, yada yada. Chief wants him to learn a lesson." He stopped in front of a cell door and snapped his cuffs off, "Okay kid, have fun."

The other guard chuckled and he was left very much alone in the dark.

Or so he thought.

Some force shoved him faceplate first into a wall, "Well, lookeh here…"

The voice in his audio screamed Polyhexian. That was to be expected. They were in a facility used by multiple city-states, but something was very wrong here. There had been talk of a Polyhexian enforcer's youngling that had completely flipped and gone rouge, turning to a life of crime. A too wide smile flickered in the little light given off by his own optics.

Scrap.

A pair of red optics opened somewhere across the room, "Meister, if you're gonna offline him do it quietly!"

His attacker huffed but let him go with a sneer. "Welcome tah pit."

That would be his first introduction to Jazz, better known by his code name. Even if Polyhex and Praxus hadn't shared a border, _everyone_ knew about Meister.

He shuddered, maybe things wouldn't be as bad as his sire said…


	2. Breakout

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Lockdown and Jazz are bad influences_

* * *

" **Breakout"**

Unfortunately, Jazz took it as a personal mission to torment him every single cycle. From the humiliating to the downright alarming, he could count on his tormenter to deliver.

On the bright side, it kept other inmates away from him. He buried his helm in his arms at a mess hall table, seeking a break from the throngs of his orange tinted peers.

That lasted about a nano.

"So how yah holding up little mech?"

He cringed away from Jazz, "Fine."

"Yah want out don yah?"

Prowl hunkered down, adolescent vocalizer cracking, "There is no out, we're here until our time is up."

"Yah thinking too small. C'mere."

"But—"

Jazz showed him the tip of a shank hidden beneath his wrist armor. "I want to **show** you something, Prowl. Come here." He slunk out of the mess hall behind the Praxian as if nothing happened and steered him to a storage unit where Lockdown was waiting.

"Oh good, you brought the nerd."

"Transform, Prowler." Jazz deadpanned.

"I—" his spark was still stuck in his vocalizer.

"I don't like repeating myself."

Prowl did so rather quickly; he barely registered Lockdown whaling his hood with a pipe. Waking up two cycles later with someone dragging a brush over his forehead proved to be less painful.

"Gah!"

Another youngling, that wasn't either of his kidnappers, blinked back at him, "Told you he wasn't dead."

Lockdown's now black streaked faceplate glared down at him, "Sit still, moron, he's tryin' to fix your paint."

The gold one quickly packed his supplies and rose. "There. Pay up. 800 credits."

"Eh nah, yah said 600." Jazz frowned.

"No…you got here late," he growled at Lockdown, "Those stupid spikes of yours scratched my finish, and my guardian will weld my aft to the ceiling if he finds out about this. 200 for damages."

"Fine."

The gold mech snatched his payment and disappeared down the back alleys.

Jazz dragged him to his peds smirking, plain prison orange frame now painted a cool white, black, and blue. The older youngling had done the same, his armor now green with curling black flames.

Prowl looked down at his own paint, now black and gold instead of his original white and black. "You're going to get us in trouble!"

Lockdown snorted, "You still think we're in the center…"

"We're not?"

"We broke out, we're in Hyra!"

That was at least 400 miles from the detention center.

"Oh, no no no…" then Prowl shoved him, "Why would you take me?!"

"Because you look and act the part of a 'Forcer. We need that if we're going to go traveling."

"What?"

"If yah haven't heard, Prowlah, there's a war coming." Jazz called, "The city-states, they're lying tah us and Praxus is the worst one. The Decepticons aren't some loose band, mech. They took Kaon last mega cycle, Tarn is next."

"But that's on the other side of the planet."

"People have been hurting a long time and they want it to stop. This is different. You can feel it, something is changing and it aint going to be pretty. It's gonna spread."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're gonna leave." Lockdown keyed up, "Cut cross Cybertron, see the sights, and book it off planet. Think of it as a road trip for the end of the world."

"You two are insane…"

"Don't worry about it too much, you're only our ticket past anymore patrols."


	3. Bound For

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Everyone is a bad influence_

* * *

" **Bound For"**

Two Cybertronian vehi-modes sped through the ashen landscape, intent on finding shelter before nightfall while listening to the same argument from their hostage that they'd heard for the last hundred miles.

"I'm going back to Praxus," Prowl grouched from the head of their little convoy.

He had a right to be upset.

Jazz had fixed the magnets in his grill to the Praxian's rear bumper, forcibly tailgating and making himself a living ball and chain. He not only found joy in tormenting him but humoring him as well.

"Ya not too popular there, yannow."

"If I have to be anywhere when something happens I want to be home."

Lockdown bumped his side. "Oh sure, so you can go squeal to your sire."

"Shut up!"

The flame printed mech didn't sound pleased by the noise his engine made but Jazz waved it off digitally, "We gonna be passing through there anyway, ahm stopping through Polyhex. You got anywhere to go, Lock?"

"Nope. It's wherever the storms take me."

"So we got a plan then."

"Iacon's all the way in the north. It's a long way…You guys really think you're going to make it there on your own power?"

Lockdown noted a tanker stop and signaled for the group to pull in, "I wasn't planning on it." He transformed, kicking Prowl into doing the same, "Why don't you go in and ask the nice 'former at the counter for a decent map, hmm?"

"How do you know I won't tell?"

"Because you're just as selfish as us and I think you know what's good for you."

With that he left with little more than a muttered denial at the first accusation.

Jazz raised on optic ridge beneath his visor, "Kay, so why'd yah really send him off?"

"We need transport, preferably one with _good_ cargo. And a little distraction wouldn't hurt."

Jazz's armor rippled with glee. "Gotcha."

In the store, Prowl tried to appear as if he wasn't nervous.

He was failing miserably at it.

He grabbed a holo-map, some energon, assorted snacks, a repair kit…

"Looks like you're going on a long trip."

He jerked like a caught petro-rabbit when the elder enforcer smiled at him.

"I ah…um..."

Apparently, the new paint job was good enough to fool or they were far enough from the center for it not to matter. Or she did know and they were all going to jail again…

That seemed unlikely though. Each city-state's enforcers minded what happened in their own jurisdictions. Right now, he looked the part of an Enforcer caste youngling that happened to be Praxian on a trip with friends.

He was safe enough, but twinges in his coding culminated in a sick feeling of 'wrong' in his tanks. He should tell—

And as if it has been set just so, Lockdown came slinking in casually, "Hey, Gigabyte how's it coming?" He nodded to the enforcer, "Sorry 'bout my buddy, he's a little slow." For his menacing appearance, the mech had surprisingly business-like mannerisms. Prowl stuffed down his misgivings and nodded wordlessly before leaving to pay for what he had.

Outside Lockdown matched his gait. "You didn't tell, I'm impressed."

And that one sentence rang in his helm. Why hadn't he? He was supposed to uphold justice and right…why didn't he said anything? Why did he not want to?

In the parking lot, Jazz leaned out of a medium sized semi, waving his associates over. "Okay, ready to roll!"

Once Lockdown was at the driver's seat the Polyhexian caught Prowl by his servo and clapped the end of a stasis cuff on his wrist. The other end was fastened to Jazz's and he was pulled to one of the two seats in the back.

"What are you doing?!"

"Well, someone's gotta watch yah."

"What's with the cuffs?!"

"So yah don't get any bright ideas."

Prowl stole a glance back at the fueling station lot that was now clouded by a smoke bomb. "I'm uncomfortable."

"Good."


	4. Borderline

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Everybody's still a bad influence and 500 words isn't enough_

 _Thank you for your feedback! :)_

* * *

" **Borderline"**

Somehow being in the back of semi made their four-bunk cell feel like a luxury flat.

This vehicle was obviously intended for a pair of drivers; as in, one could rest while the other drove. At capacity, it could hold four 'formers for a short distance until they reached their destination. What it was **not** meant for was one of the passengers to lie sprawled, upside down, across his and the neighboring seat.

A ped planted itself on the edge of his doorwing and Prowl grit his denta.

"What."

"We're coming up tah the next checkpoint, get in the passer."

He felt two digits pinch the tip of the same smarting wing.

"And its sir tah yah."

"I'm older than you. That doesn't make sense—" he trailed off when Jazz's visor brightened.

"Fine. I'm going."

Up front, the mood was at least a little warmer. On a scale of 'friendly to hatred' Lockdown was indifferent to his existence.

"Don't touch anything."

Prowl muttered his acknowledgement and the cab went back to one of its rare, uncomfortable periods of silence—that was if you were a standard vehicle mode. As a Praxian, he had a massive range of vison behind him and a moderate sensitivity to sound. The Polyhexian took full advantage of the latter.

Apparently, physical violence wasn't Jazz's preferred method in dealing with him. He was just going to torment him through psychological means to the point of being maliciously infuriating. Among the frequent invasions of personal space and EMP field harassments he had to suffer on and off auditory torture. Somehow, he'd managed to rig a sound system on his person and find the exact decibel to drive his sensors nuts with.

Why he decided to bug him, he didn't know. What Prowl did know was that the further away he was, the shriller that noise got and any closer made it nigh unbearable to be in the same room with him, let alone a small cab. It was a miracle he hadn't gone sensor blind by now. He winced further as the pulse changed again. One of these days he was going to get his wings docked.

Abruptly, his right arm got pulled back behind the seat just enough to get on his nerves, further reminding him of his situation.

If withstanding this wing fixated idiot meant getting back home he'd gladly do it.

Where he was going to go once he got there was another story…

He expected trouble, that was _if_ his sire didn't catch him first. Praxus was his home; the fact his clan was there as well was irrelevant.

Prowl sat taller, "Okay. When we get to the checkpoint the important thing is to behave normally. There should be enough distance between us and the center by now. I assume you've got an alias."

"If anyone asks, Zilch." Lockdown replied.

"You know it."

"Fine, but let me do most of the talking." Lockdown grunted in reply and he turned around, "Jazz, you have to un-cuff me."

"No."

"If I have to talk they're going to notice if I'm not moving one servo normally and in the event of something unexpected happens I suggest you do it."

Prowl cut him off before he could argue, "You say there's unrest further away from us, odds are security has been increased. We're already at a disadvantage considering no one here is over sixteen vorns, Lockdown looks like a historical throwback, and we are in a _semi_. Do either of you even have any idea what's in that trailer?"

"Yeah, tools and stuff."

Prowl frowned, "Are you quite positive it's nothing illegal?"

"Ah checked it mahself and mah answer's still: nope."

The Praxian glared, "There are plenty of younglings that resemble Lockdown, out there is another Polyhexian youngling with a visor and a bad accent, but there are no Enforcer younglings wearing stasis cuffs. They so much as suspect something is amiss, it will take 2.8 nanos to raise an alarm and even less for them to access measures to prevent us from leaving. This rig couldn't accelerate fast enough to get away even if we were on open road. We're driving into an immobilizing stall. Make one mistake and we're all going back and I'm not going to jeopardize a free ride home over your power trip. Either you uncuff me right now or I'm calling back up."

Jazz's visor paled and Lockdown caught his startled gaze.

"You didn't disable his comm.?!"

"Ah was kinda busy helpin' you escape!"

Prowl folded his arms. Sure, a tactician's doorwings might be a curse, but the processor for blackmail was useful. "Your choice to make."

Several kliks later he had a freed wrist and a smirk as they pulled up to the checkpoint.

As planned Lockdown handed over faux license and registration with a story about having to haul something for a sick relative, Jazz pretended to be in recharge, and Prowl gushed about their trip to see a concert. All was going as planned until…

"Any weaponry?"

"Actually yes," Prowl admitted guiltily, pulling an acid pistol from, "My carrier wants me to keep it on me."

He could sense Lockdown stiffening but the guard mech paid no mind. He nodded offhandedly and moved on to the next thing to check.

And they got away scot-free.

Further down the highway Lockdown hissed out a sigh of relief through his vents, "What the frack were you thinking?"

"It was for realism—"

"Not yelling at you right now, nerd. Jazz! You didn't check his subspace either?!"

"It was locked! I thought they would have cleaned him out—"

"You had better tighten up because right now the kidnapped guy is doing your job better than _**you.**_ "

Jazz petulantly kicked the passenger seat in front of him and slid down his own audibly.

Prowl took it all in stride with a faceplate splitting grin. Being underhanded actually felt _good._ Apparently, the gun wasn't the only thing he'd procured from his carrier.

"You shouldn't have done that."

He turned to Lockdown.

"Messing with him. You have to sit back there."

Prowl peered back at the other youngling, who's visor suddenly brightened far beyond what was healthy.

"Please don't make me."

Lockdown pushed him onward with one servo.

"Word to the wise: never pull all your tricks at once."

He sat ramrod straight beside a still fuming Jazz. "About earlier, sorr—"

The only reply he got was the return of the ultrasonic music, his end of the stasis cuff, and aching doorwings.


	5. Bash

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Harassment induced injury and angry teenaged robutts_

 _:)_

* * *

" **Bash"**

Jazz stretched drowsily in the back of the semi cab. One solid mega-cycle of team driving was enough to mess with anyone's internal chronometer; it was still light out. Lockdown had just barely found a sheltered place along the side of the road before he dropped into recharge.

They were passing through the Ferin Depths. The destroyed urban area had suffered a massive nuclear meltdown in the past and was famed for deep fissures, vicious wildlife, and the fact things that came through here tended to disappear. For those reasons, not many 'formers took this route. It was an ideal place for his line of work…pity they were coming through so early.

By now, they'd been on the road close to an orn and had barely cleared a fourth of their trip. If they could make it east to Nyon then they could meet with Lockdown's contact, make a trade off, and ride the trams to Iacon.

Until then there wasn't much to do.

Jazz settled for watching his seatmate snooze with peds curled beneath him and oversized wings tucked protectively against his back-struts. Slag, those things were big...and weird...and eggh. It wasn't like he cared; doorwings were stupid anyway...

He knew plenty of winged 'formers, but he'd never understood Praxians. They were that group that was obviously had some flier in their CNA but pretended they didn't. Their frames hinted at having a link to the Vosian Seekers, though both groups vehemently denied it. Their city-state put a bad taste in most mouths because of their harsh laws. Conversely, it was those rules that spawned Praxus' unique art styles and set the city-state as Cybertron's capital for the arts. It truly showed in their architecture, the atmosphere…he liked it there. Of course, it wasn't anywhere close to being as happening as Polyhex, but it was a close second.

Prowl must have missed the local coding strain. He was _boring_.

The guy had two settings: sulk or critique while sulking. If he wasn't doing that, he was pouring though scrounged datapads or unconscious. Even after Prowl found out the guards had no plan to do anything about his being harassed the Praxian was surprisingly resilient. He'd heard he had a smart glossa, and while the guy was aloof the most he been able to raise from him was a few predictable insults.

Unfortunately, this only made him remember how bored he was.

His optics cut to the gold-bronze trimmed panel and he bit his derma.

Yup, it was still stupid.

He still reached out a curious servo.

A nasty pain shot through his wrist when that same wing slammed into it.

"Back. Off."

Jazz snatched his arm back, "You always in a bad mood?"

"Around you, yes."

He watched Prowl sit up and stretch but his attention was drawn to the dribbles of blue on the door. He turned his helm, "Will you stop staring at me?!" He'd be more than happy to if the other youngling's audio wasn't seeping energon.

"Umm."

Prowl looked as if he were about to swat him until a congealed chunk landed on his left shoulder. Both sets of optics traveled to where it landed and Prowl put two digits to his helm.

It was then Jazz discovered Prowl had his own form of audio torture.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

"You were buzzing him for a mega-cycle straight?" Lockdown snapped, paying no mind to the flinching Praxian he was applying mesh bandages to.

Jazz still sat uselessly where he'd been before, "Yeah…"

His comm. pinged.

 _:: I get you have a job, but could you curb your enthusiasm until we get outside of Praxus? ::_

 _:: Sure. ::_

Lockdown rubbed at the overwarm circuits around his red optics before muttering, "Okay. You two sit down and _shut up._ "

That was going to be hard.

A joor later, Jazz swung the chain connecting his wrist to the Praxian. He hated roadtrips. There was always some point where the conversation died and empty silence took its place. It drove him glitchy.

"Lock?"

A low snore answered him.

He tugged, repeatedly, on Prowl's line. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing," angry blue optics cut over to him, "Leave me alone."

"Come on, talk to me."

Prowl kicked him. "You abducted me, broke my audio, got me handcuffed, and now you want me to talk to you?"

"Yes."

"Go eat slag."

Okay, so maybe he deserved that. Seven cycles of sensor torture was excessive… "What if ah said please?"

Jazz nearly got yanked off his seat.

" _Don't_ talk to me, moron."

"Just because I'm a criminal doesn't make me stupid."

Prowl ignored the modicum of self-preservation he did have and lost it.

"Sure it doesn't…but CNA does. I've seen your logs. You come from infiltration ranks, a substandard clan, and even more questionable family unit. You were destined to be a crook. What did Lockdown offer you they couldn't?"

He should have realized something was wrong when Jazz's visor seemed to shut off. In a flash, the tri-colored youngling had coiled their chain around his throat and pulled it taunt.

"Who said I'm with him? You have your ways, I have mine. I'm good at what I do. There's no future in being the nice guy, Prowler. They lied to us, Cybertron is headed for war and if you don't adapt you die."

"By betraying your caste?"

"Well yeah. What has it ever done besides make us set in our ways?"

"It gives a purpose." Prowl wrenched one of his of his audio horns, causing him to loosen the chain around his throat cables and giving the Praxian an opportunity to fight back.

Through his hazy optics, Lockdown wasn't entirely sure what was going on in the seats behind him, but the yelling and crunching plating didn't sound too nice.

He fumbled for a button on the dash and the rear door swung open, spilling the brawling duo outside. He followed the heap of snarling metal and tried to snag one of them without getting pulled in.

"Will you two cool it!"

Instead, Prowl's swing went wide and caught Lockdown square in the face.

Jazz wore a wide bloody smile. "Oh, you dun done it now…"

The Praxian charged forward only to have Jazz toss him to the ground and land on his back to twist his doorwings into uncomfortable positions.

Lockdown recovered shortly thereafter with murder in his optics; not that either of them noticed. He staggered to his peds and transformed his left arm into a saw.

The pair didn't realize he was upon them until it swept over their helms, sending them skittering in opposing directions on their afterplates.

"DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION NOW?" he slammed the blade onto the ground, severing the chain connecting them. "Gimme your stasis cuffs, Jazz."

"But—"

"NOW."

He cuffed both, separately shoving Prowl into the passenger seat and Jazz in the back, still wielding his saw. "If I hear one more word, I'll start cutting off important parts."

"But—" Prowl stuttered.

"CUTTING." Lockdown growled over the rev of his blade. The green and black mech then leaned back and nodded off once more.

* * *

 **On an unrelated note, I like to pair songs to a whole story to set the overall mood, so I'm just going to leave this here…**

 _ **Braken —To the Stars**_


	6. Bio

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Info dump and slight trigger warning for mentions of abuse_

* * *

" **Bio"**

 _ **Later That Same Cycle**_

Prowl sat uncomfortably with his wings pinned behind him along with his servos, wincing as a comm. request buzzed in his audio. He accepted.

 _:: Lock gets cranky when you wake him up. ::_

 _:: No kidding. Where did he get the— ::_

 _:: You're better off not knowing where he gets his goods. Does it hurt? ::_

Prowl was going to assume he meant the first injury of the cycle and not the many dents he wore now. _:: My audio? Yeah. ::_

 _:: You're special, most don't last that long. ::_

He glanced into the back seats with a flat expression, _:: I am told that comes from having a slag ridden processor. ::_

There was a soft burst of static on the line that morphed into glyphs for amusement. _:: Was that a joke? Didn't know you had a humor function. ::_

Prowl snorted through his vents. Here was a strange young mech that seemingly had no direction or reason for his actions—except maybe the one now running through his processors. Now that he thought about it, Jazz had always kept up a constant dialogue since they'd been in the semi. He frequently talked to Lockdown even when the other youngling wanted nothing to do with him.

 _:: You don't like silence and tight spaces, do you? ::_

 _:: NO. Yah ever been in solitary confinement? It sucks. ::_

 _:: So you talk to keep your processors occupied. ::_

 _:: Yup. I'm out of new music and I got bored. ::_

 _:: One would think torture would be fully occupying. ::_

 _:: I forgot. ::_ he said lamely, _:: Sometimes ah get too excited about one thing and forget something else. Its got worse ever since ah performed that credit reserve job. ::_

 _:: What were you doing? ::_

 _:: Helping 'em with inventory. Whaddayah think?! Transferring credits to the mech that hired me. Ah tripped one alarm and it finally landed me in the center. Longtime coming ah guess. You act outside your coding once and yah branded for life. Might as well give em ah run fah their credits while you're free, right? ::_

He was no stranger to that philosophy.

On Cybertron, society was organized by caste, some higher than others; ruling caste (Magnus, council), high caste, mid, and lower.

Inside each caste, rank was decided on function. As the sparkling of a chief he would have the opportunity to take on that title unless someone more qualified came up. He'd always maintain a higher rank, contrasting someone of like age that had to work their way up the positions.

The infiltration division Jazz was sparked into had been a questionable one. It was well known those in the infiltration caste were just a step above being criminals. Much went on in that tight-knit subdivision that never saw the light of solar joor. Even the High Protector stayed out of their business.

Their society depended on everyone staying in their place. He understood and wanted to be a part of it. The only thing standing in his way was his little problem; what his datapads analyzed as an existential crisis. Prowl liked his caste, but every nano he spent in his sire's flat the less he wanted part of his given rank. So he skipped classes, avoided training, and made up enough excuses to raise more than a few red flags at his school. Still, even after that fateful video call home and the tirade afterward he still didn't know what he wanted to do with the swirling vortex his life was heading for. Everyone else had already decided it.

That had been half the reason he'd finally been sent off. 'The Center' was the combination of a correctional facility and a juvenile detention center. It was seen as a disorder if you were not content with doing the same thing for the rest of your functioning. Spending some orns with those guilty of a crime was supposed to shock them back into reality. They weren't doing a very good job. So far he wasn't seeing the difference between home and The Center.

 _:: YO. Prowlah. Come back tah Cybertron for a while.::_ Jazz shifted to lie on his tanks, prodding a nasty slice on his derma.: _: You fight pretty dirty for a chief's kid. I mean not_ _well_ _, but its decent. ::_

 _:: It's Prowl. I get into fights occasionally… I'm actually not well liked among my peers. ::_

 _:: No slag,_ _ **Prowler**_. _You got the personality of a scrap heap. What did you say to get thrown in with us anyway? ::_

Even if his doors weren't pressed behind him Jazz could tell they were drooping.

 _:: There was an edict given I didn't agree with that I'd be required to enforce. I couldn't get an appointment, so went before the High Protector at a formal function and spoke my processor… I won't be doing that again. ::_

 _:: Whoa, wait. You went off in a room full o stuffy Praxys? I'm liking yah more already. ::_

 _:: We're not all like that…and the outburst—it's not something to be proud of. I am a constant embarrassment to my caste. ::_

 _:: Yah mean yah frame? Yeah sure yah do look like a femme but, come on, you'll bulk up soonah or latah… ::_

 _:: No. I mean I don't like some of the practices in-caste and it shows in my actions. No sparkling of a higher rank should behave as I do, skipping training and school. There isn't much of a point though. Why do they even keep us separate from the public system? Those there will be the ones we protect in the future, right? Why not learn about them now? ::_

Now Jazz was appearing engaged, _:: Cuz they turned the Enforcers into an extension of the Elite Guard. Yannow E-Guard is to the planet, as Autobot is to the Magnus. They're his goons. We're not supposed to befriend the public. It's a stupid rule, that's why my 'formers never pay it any mind. ::_ He rolled to his backstruts and propped his pedwheels on the edge door.

 _:: Our game is blending in and gathering info, so we get social. The media says everyone is fine and happy, the lower castes are far from it. That angry gold mech that painted us up? The word is he and his twin got taken in by a medic in Hyra and put in merchant caste, but— ::_

He looked around with a conspiring air. _:: He's a great artist. The stuff this guy paints will make your spark skip a pulse! It's like looking into a window to the Golden Age. But merchants don't do that, they trade. So he does the dirty work for some slacker in the artistry caste for a fraction of what he really deserves and paints undercover. Scrap, I DJ on the side, but you didn't hear none of this from me. Everyone is sparked with more potential than what the council and Magnus want you to believe, but they don't want you to know that because we need to be controlled in little sectors for their sake::_

He paused in his rant, _:: I think Megatronus has the right idea in opposing the 'Bots, I just don't want to be here when the scrap hits the fanblades._ _What I said aint half of the bad stuff. Cybertron is a glitched up place, mech. I got sick o seeing it every day, so I left. My clan understood. I started using my skills to help others. ::_

 _:: And yourself. ::_ Prowl put in.

 _:: Yeah, that too… I might be a crook but my clan are good 'formers. I love 'em. And if you talk noise about 'em again I'll cut your chevron off and send it to your carrier. ::_

 _:: Go ahead. Not like they would care. ::_

 _:: Oh, things aren't all rust-sticks and gel goodies in the chief's house? ::_

Prowl put his helm down.

 _:: Okay, bad subject. Don't stop now talking though, please? ::_

The other youngling nodded, _:: It's nice you have a family that cares… ::_

 _:: Yah don't have to talk about em if yah don't want. ::_

Prowl rubbed his jaw against his shoulder, _:: My most recent injury is an untreated splinter fracture in my jaw. It hurts when it rains. ::_

 _:: One of 'em hit cha? Yah serious? ::_

 _:: Yes. ::_

 _:: Man, all the stupid stuff ah dun mah sire nevah hit meh… maybe that was tha problem. ::_ he smirked, trying to add some humor.

He shrugged, _:: It's not like I stood there and took it, though…but this last time, that was the final straw. He got rid of me. ::_

 _:: Smart. Yah really not prison material. Good we got you out before. ::_

Prowl looked out at the glimmering lights of a nearby city peeking through the rubble.

 _:: Hey, it's not like there are that many patrols on this route, none you couldn't dodge anyway. Why'd you really take me? ::_

Jazz made a variety of faces that were partially hidden by his visor. _:: So we can have a spark-felt conversation in the back of a semi. C'mon we're supposed tah hug. ::_

 _:: Touch me and I'll break your arms. I'm serious though, why am I here? ::_

 _:: Yah wanna see what I can do? ::_ The Polyhexian somehow loosened his joints enough to bring his servos over his helm and in front of him so he could work on his cuffs. _:: Tah dah. ::_

 _:: Jazz. ::_

But he was ignored. Jazz leaned forward and plucked a photo from the dash before making a low chirr.

 _:: Ay, look at her. ::_

 _:: Why did you— ::_

 _:: Loook at the pic, Prowler. ::_

He then understood he wasn't going to get a straight answer and played along, _:: Is that Lockdown's? ::_

 _:: Yup. ::_

 _:: It might be his sister. ::_

 _:: She's hot. ::._

In the cycle to come, Prowl would wake up with his servos free and Jazz back to his irrelevant, exasperating self, minus the audio torment.

Their conversation never came up again.


	7. Breaking Down

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Lockdown is creepy, critters are bitey, mayhem, and mentioned deaths._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _So…a full-length response has been a long time coming, eh? Pardon, before I was trying to keep the word count down._

 _That aside, I just wanted to say thanks for the feedback and presence, guys. It's great to know somebody out there likes this! Originally, I wasn't taking this story too seriously. It was supposed to be small side project, but one flashback turned into a 500-word challenge. Now it's taking on a life of its own for three reasons:_ _ **1:**_ _The readers deserve it._ _ **2:**_ _The characters need it._ _ **3:**_ _On paper, I can't shut up. So, many thanks, you all pushed me to make a better story. ;)_

 _Here's some info…._

 _Prowl and friends backstory ties in heavily to what has happened in the previous installment. This story will fill in the gaps for the Cybertronian cast and set up what will happen later on. As of this chapter, we're dipping more into the AU part and this story isn't following any existing TF universe. It's just plot, characters, and scenarios I like all mixed up. If you can't find something mentioned in here on TF-Wiki it's probably fan-cannon, off-cannon, or a typo. Example: in this fic 'Predacon' is a blanket term for all forms of beast-mode Transformers, not a faction or ancient dragons/griffons._

 _Back to the road trip!_

* * *

" **Breaking Down"**

The next cycle, they were still stuck in the Depths, but the mood had lightened to something more like grudging carpool than a hostage situation. Lockdown blamed it on the hyperactive one driving while harassing Prowl now.

Even if that harassment was sounding more and more like casual talk.

"What are you reading?"

" _The Watchmaker's Folly."_

"The pad sucks, all the characters are scenery chewers."

" _You_ read?"

Jazz probably saw his processor when he rolled his optics. "Mech, take mah word for it, just watch the movie."

"It's never the same. Besides my parentages said holo-movies are a waste of time. It's easier to pretend I'm studying with a data-pad."

"An we've established your parents are afts. Yah need tah get out more."

"In the next city-state, let's go see a horror flick." Lockdown piped up from the back.

"Nope, ahm not fallin for that one again! You'll scare him into offlining."

Prowl raised an optic ridge at his new seatmate, "Just out of curiosity, what did you get imprisoned for?"

"Being greedy. He wouldn't let me have the berth beside the window!"

"First come, first serve," Lockdown snapped before acknowledging Prowl. "I was merchant caste, someone broke in to our store, trying to steal, and I got too…enthusiastic."

Realization leaked into Prowl's optics like oil from a sieve. "You're the one who took off that mech's arm."

"Oh, you heard about that, huh? Don't worry about it the other guy's fine; he's in rehab."

"I didn't know merchant caste had access to add-ons like that saw."

"We don't. I got it _from_ the thief. By the time they caught up to me, it had already healed in nicely. The courts tacked on three vorns for that act."

"You—took it out of him?"

His grin was genuine when he replied. "Yeah, with a pair of crystal shears. It's not hard, I can show you how."

Prowl looked sick and Jazz shifted the conversation, "So the 'Cons are coming north now?"

Lockdown tapped at his comm. absently, "Been listening to some bulletins. They're spreading like rust. Guess Kaon wasn't enough for 'em. I heard 'formers were killed in the fighting."

"Yup. That's a riot for you. Bettah get ta rollin'." Jazz called before making a game out of listing what different piles of rubble looked like as they passed.

Prowl raised an optic ridge, "If you guys are such good criminals, why didn't you steal a shuttle?"

His seatmate snorted, "Three younglings flying a shuttle doesn't sound a little suspect to you, 'Forcer? Besides, I lost my pilot's license when I got arrested."

"Exactly how do you plan to survive in space?"

Lockdown dug through his subspace with ease and shoved a notice into Prowl's servos.

It read: **600,000 credits for Xandin of Nyon On/Off Line**

"You can earn a living hunting mechs down. In all the ancient battles, there've been 'formers with no side. Like go-betweens. Bounty hunting's a great gig; no one to order you around, you set your own hours, and it's a job that's not going away anytime soon."

Prowl was hit with the idea the retail field had not been kind to Lockdown to drive him to this, but even he had to admit it was a doable plan.

"How are we even going to find him?"

"You tell me 'Forcer. Jazz was in special forces and your old mech is tactician, right?"

"Yes."

"Boom. Instant hunting party."

"I'm not skilled in strategy."

"Basic knowhow is fine. You have to be good at something."

Prowl shrugged. "I'm good at subterfuge and I've an interest in martial arts…may I ask what your profession was?"

"I told ya, merchant."

"He used tah work in a pretty crystal shop!"

"Shut up, Jazz!"

Amidst the petty argument that followed Prowl found something more interesting outside the cab.

"Hey, stop the rig!"

The brakes screeched while Lockdown's faceplate unexpectedly met the seat in front of him. "What is it?"

Prowl sat on his peds, wings sweeping to their full height on his back. "Look at the turbofoxes."

To Jazz, anyone having that positive of a reaction to the scrub critters was unheard of. "What's so special about… Yah never seen turbofoxes before?"

"Not in person."

Four of the mechanimals in question were on the run, spiky, silver pelts standing out against the rubble. What caught Prowl's attention was the strikingly orange one at the rear, urging the others on as a sulk of turbofoxes chased after them. Something was odd about the ones behind them… Their sides were sunken in, their plating loose with the beginnings of rust infection setting in, and all were frothing at the snout.

The yellow optics of the orange one found their truck and it altered its course straight toward them.

Somehow…in some way…the closer the fox got the more each youngling began to realize something was horribly wrong. Whether it was from a documentary or experience, several life facts came to mind.

Normal turbofoxes did not froth.

For several vorns the Vesania Plague had remained active in areas of the Depths and nobody knew why.

While once pet mechanimals would have strange colors to differentiate them from wild ones, they did not wear bifocals.

That "turbofox" was a Predacon and the ones chasing them were ill.

Prowl wrenched his door open and offered a servo.

The mech took a huge leap.

Then faster than anyone could process one sick fox surged forward and dragged him down. The disguised mech broke free and made another jump for the semi, only to meet the slick metal of a truck door.

Prowl looked down at the mech leaned across his lap, digits firmly holding the latch shut against the other 'former clawing it, "Lockdown! We can help him! Jazz!"

Neither of the seemed to hear though; their optics were riveted on the gory scene unfolding outside. The Praxian edged backwards only to jump when Lockdown sat up speaking. "There's nothing we can do, he was a dead mech walking. Vesania Plague spreads fast," he nodded at Jazz, "Let's get out of here."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Joors later they were passing through the Depth's center with Prowl was still upset and hunkered on his side of the backseat.

Lockdown sent out a long ex-vent. "So anybody still up for a horror flick?"

"Too soon." Jazz called.

"At least after this it will make _Sparkeater_ less scary."

"Someone just died, have some respect," Prowl sat up, finally breaking his silence, "Besides, there's no such thing as sparkeaters."

"Um, did you not see the five turbofoxes outside?"

"They have a sickness and they didn't cannibalize the spark. They shredded him. They're acting hyper-aggressive. Normally, they wouldn't turn on their own. There's a condition in organics that has similar effects—"

Lockdown quickly tuned him out, _:: Nerd. Am I right? ::_

He found his comment ignored as Jazz was more concerned with looking in the rear-view mirror, seemingly hanging on every word.

 _:: Quit staring at him, it's getting weird. If you really want some doorwings of your own I know a guy in medical— ::_

 _:: Ew, Lock. It's just…he's aint so bad when he's not all grouchy. ::_

 _:: Don't get attached. ::_

 _:: Ahm not. From the sound of it, everyone had it in for the kid. ::_

 _:: Tough. People get hurt and die. Nothing you can do but look out for you and yours. This is why you shouldn't get to know your targets. ::_ Crimson optics met a blue visor in the mirror, _::You're slipping mech, don't go soft on me. ::_

Jazz quickly broke the comm. in favor of changing the audible conversation.

"Speaking 'o foxes, Lock, you gonna introduce me to you friend on the dash when we get off-planet?"

"No."

"Who's that in the picture?" Prowl piped up. It wasn't he was interested, but anything would be better than discussing the mauling they'd witnessed.

"My cuz, RoadRage. They moved off planet a while ago. Might go visit once we get to space."

"Yah cuz is smokin'!"

"You lay off!"

Jazz crowed from the front and the other mech waved his saw arm at him.

Then the back glass shattered and a single hole appeared to the left of the photo, barely missing the Polyhexian's arm.

Silence reigned until a hail of laser fire sprayed through the cab.

"Helms down!"

"What's going on?"

Jazz hazarded a glance behind them. "Some moron's shooting at us! Something you wanna share with the class 'Lock?"

"I thought they were _your_ friends."

"Nah _ah_ paid everybody on mah end off."

A blast narrowly missed Prowl's forehelm and he clenched his fists, "Guys? Priorities!"

"Fine. No one else knew where we were going, so they're not after any of us. It's gotta be the truck."

Jazz steered the truck down an alley, debris being plowed under the semi as he looped the vehicle back to an attached side street where their pursuers would pass.

"What are you doing," Lockdown scolded, "We still need the cargo!"

"They want tha truck, they'll get tha truck. They messed with the wrong rig."

"What is he—"

"Oooohhh slaggit. Hold on to something, nerd!"

Prowl scrabbled for a restraint as the livid Polyhexian turned around and rammed a smaller, sentient truck. The momentum sent the other 'former crashing through a collapsed building and Jazz started to turn the vehicle even while it was moving at a high rate of speed.

The semi jackknifed, tipped onto its side, rolled once, and skidded into a pillar of debris with a sharp jolt.

Inside the cab, all Prowl registered was that the world had spun briefly and he was now upside down, coated with safety foam. To make matters worse, his tank and lunch didn't seem to be on speaking terms anymore.

Jazz seemed to be having the time of his life as he scaled his way off the ceiling. "Whoo! Everybody in one piece?!"

"Yup." Lockdown freed himself and dropped to the floor, turning back to get the fuming Praxian down.

"YOU CRASHED THE RIG!"

"And we aren't offline yet. C'mon, out of the truck Prowler, we gotta go."

Outside, Lockdown tugged the shredded remains of the trailer apart and began tossing out boxes. "Stuff what you can in subspace and let's move out…" he trailed off as one case broke open to reveal, not only arc welders and mesh, but heavy military grade weaponry.

"Well…there's our problem."

Prowl's right doorwing twitched, "We're all going to die."

"Okay, we have five mechs coming at us," Jazz called, peering from the end of the overturned cab, "Any suggestions?"

The flame printed went to see for himself, "Actually it's more like eight…"

"Oh, ahm sorry ah wasn't specific enough! Look we got a problem, do yah have an idea?!"

There were three rapid shots and both younglings stared at their barricade to see Prowl plastered against the top of the trailer with wings raised just high enough to catch signals, his still warm acid pistol in servo, and three of the mechs downed with non-life threatening injuries. "You two are indolent liars. Get your _tools_ and give me a servo."

"Those were hidden—" Lockdown contested, latching onto the Praxian's servo to climb up before they turned back to hoist Jazz up.

"Ay it wasn't my fault!"

"I'm not mad! It's just if we were hauling contraband with that type of shielding… we're dealing with some dangerous mechs. Graze 'em so it'll be hard for 'em to follow and we'll run for it."

Prowl made to speak but instead turned his back to the approaching hoard and shrank against the trailer.

Lockdown groaned, "What's got you scared now—?" Abruptly, there were shots, screams, and noises no creature should ever hear. He barely registered Jazz pushing them over the opposite edge, landing everyone in a heap of limbs. He heard those two arguing about something though the haze, but they quickly went silent.

In front of them, their pursuers were very dead and whoever had done them in was swiftly moving toward them. Fine metal crunched beneath peds that obviously belonged to someone who outranked them in size and—judging from the exit wounds on his victims—skill. The mech approached their trailer, audibly rifled through some boxes, and left.

A joor passed before anyone thought to move.

"Lockdown…" Prowl ventured.

"What?"

"I wanna go back to the Center."

The flame-printed mech stifled the trembling in his vocalizer and got up, "Kinda late for that, huh?"

He wasn't scared.

He never got scared.

At least, not until he felt the icy rifle barrel at the back of his helm.

Prowl's doorwings did a disappearing trick and Lockdown refused to believe he himself was the source of that un-mechly whine. And for the life of him he couldn't figure out why Jazz was bouncing up and down like an overexcited sparkling.

* * *

 _ **Deus-ex**_ _Mech_ _ **-ina!**_


	8. Bum

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _Its not a road trip until you encounter a dangerous vagrant and his hungry pets._

" **Bum"**

* * *

Lockdown was not hiding.

He was just trying to get Prowl out of the truck so they could put distance between themselves and the serial killer outside. The second that cold barrel left his helm he'd followed Prowl and climbed back into the cab.

If Jazz wanted to be suicidal and chat with him, that was his call.

He, on the other hand, was taking the only sane mech here and burning rubber.

Unfortunately, Prowl had chosen now to discover his inner flat-cat.

Somehow, he'd squeezed underneath the backseat and wedged himself vertically at the highest point of the overturned truck.

He wasn't coming out anytime soon.

"Prowl, for the love of—get down here!"

"No!" he hissed back.

"Don't make me come up there…"

"Oh please, what can you to me that's worse than those two outside?"

"Was that a challenge, nerd?"

A look of terror not meant for him was the only warning Lockdown got. Suddenly, he was wrenched backwards by his scruff bar by a snout full of pointed denta and dragged out of the cab before being left at Jazz's right against the ruined trailer. A bronzy, ash colored quadruped stalked around him, snarling as it avoided the youngling's well aimed kick.

Then a 'former several helms taller than any of them dropped the Praxian opposite of Jazz and turned to face them. The cruel faced mech glared down at them with optics several shades below the color of an offline frame and an unkempt, cyan streaked paintjob to match.

This cycle couldn't get much worse—and then he recognized the purple insignia…and that faceplate.

"Slaggitt, not you."

Long, Predacon-like fangs smiled back, "Nice to see you too."

Jazz looked too pleased with himself, "Do you know who this is?!"

"Deadlock. Current position: mercenary. Chased out of Praxus two vorn ago for Decepticon affiliation and a string of multi-city crimes not limited to homicide." Prowl groaned out.

"Very good, Enforcer… Now have you three seen a turbofox?"

On cue, a moderately sized black and white vixen ambled up to the trio with a soft yip and wove between younglings.

Deadlock picked the closest mechling and nudged Prowl's helm up with the barrel of his blaster. "I have questions and you should answer them swiftly. Got business with mech by the designation: Tirade. Seen him? Looks like this, only bigger, orange, and with glasses." He'd didn't miss the way they all stiffened.

The fox sniffed at Lockdown's audio and he batted it away, "He doesn't have plague, does he?" He shifted as he got a comm.

 _:: I'd be more worried about the denta… ::_ Prowl susurrated, mindful of the impatient gun toting mech in front of him.

 _:: Yannow for all your pad smarts, you're pretty dumb. We run on energon. Plague spreads through energon. ::_

 _:: But not to sentients! We still could have helped that guy, now we're done for. ::_

 _:: You really believe that—? ::_

 _:: Have you ever_ seen _a Transformer with it? ::_

"Gidget's a she, and she's had her shots."

Lockdown cast a sidelong look at the stoic steeljaw attack hound next to him. "So they aren't Preda?"

"Nope," Deadlock finished with a pop, "But they are rather hungry…"

Jazz got sick of the other two fooling around, "Tha mech you're looking for got taken out by plague foxes 'bout 50 ticks back. Sorry."

"Thanks," the mech nodded with a sharp bark to the mechanimals and armed his rifle much to Prowl's dismay.

The fox and the steeljaw began to circle once more, fangs bared.

"What are you doing?! We helped you!"

"And you've outlived your usefulness. Nothing personal, guys."

All three shrank down. Deadlock reasoned that was good, pleas for mercy got old. Then the frail dregs that made up what was left of his conscious began to stir. Something wasn't right here.

Deadlock paused, canting his helm in a way that made him look more like Gidget than a mech. Maybe it was one of the syk fried circuits in his helm talking, but these mechs didn't look—legitimate. Smugglers were getting younger and smaller every cycle, unless...

He frowned, optics lightening to a dull red, "Hold it. Change of plans. Go eat up, cuties." The fox and the steeljaw trotted off to begin their normal routine of cleaning up after their alpha.

"Just get it over with…" Prowl hesitated.

"You are either really disproportioned mini-bots or you're not at your final form," the mech frowned, looking between the three. "You're all sparklings…"

"We are not." Lockdown spat.

"Not smart to argue with the gun-mech." He stowed the blaster away on his hip, "How many vorns?" There was silence until the Deadlock summoned the steeljaw, who came back with messy jaws to begin actively gnawing on Jazz's shoulder.

"16."

"15."

Jazz studiously ignored the hound, making a face before muttering something under his breath.

"What was that, visor?"

"13 and ¾ ths." He grumbled.

"You said you were 16!" Lockdown hissed.

"Well, ah _lied._ "

Prowl didn't see what the surprise was. While his attitude and everything else lined up with an older youngling his stout frame was a dead giveaway. Had he not had access to Enforcer records it might have escaped his notice. "I could have told you that."

"Shut up, nerd!"

"Sparklings," Deadlock muttered. He had done a lot of things in the past, but killing young ones had never been part of it. That was a level of crime he hadn't sunken to. Again, his fried circuits, and maybe some responsible coding, demanded answers. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Going tah Iacon," the Polyhexian supplied, "We're getting off planet."

"There are closer spaceports…"

"But we've never been tah Iacon before."

"Where are your parentages? Do they know where you are?"

The resounding answer was "Not here"/"No"/"Can't, we're supposed to be in jail."

That last one got his attention.

"What did you three—"

"Scavenged a guy's arm while it was still attached."

"I made enemies."

"Grand theft." Jazz chirped in an entirely too happy tone, "I have your rap sheet on wall in my room! You're like, a legend!"

Deadlock paused. He had a fan…and a worsening processor ache.

Sensing the precarious mood, Prowl caught the enthusiastic mechling in a helmlock making sure to keep his mouth covered, "He hit his helm."

The adult finally sighed. He didn't get paid enough to sparkling-sit. "I saw nothing. You didn't see me. I'm not going to jail for something as stupid as corrupting minors!"

Jazz bit Prowl's arm, earning him an angry swat but a free mouth. "But there's nobody else here!"

"Not my problem." His attitude morphed from one of curiosity back to scorn and his optics back to dark. "You should not be out here playing games, mid-castes. These are dangerous times."

Lockdown snorted, "Who said we're playing? This is our cargo and our rig. We can take care of _ourselves._ "

"Which is why your transport is out of commission and you're all stranded in a plague zone? Great job." He stalked off, "Go home, sparklings."

Ego got the best of Lockdown and the flame patterned youngling rushed to block his path, "Make us."

Deadlock loomed over much smaller 'former, "You think you're so tough with your little blade arm. The only reason you're still alive is because I happened to be passing through. Those mechs in front of you weren't the only ones. About five more would have come from behind and finished the job. You got off this time. The cycle will come when you'll again run into someone out of your league and then you will die. I can't make you go home, but it's just as well. It's out of my servos."

"You're just going to leave us here?" Jazz asked.

"Yup."

"Good riddance," Lockdown called after him.

Instead of staying, the Polyhexian dove back into the trailer for supplies and dutifully followed behind the Decepticon.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lockdown barked.

"They say follow your dreams. 'Sides, I'm not getting eaten and it's safer with him."

"So, you're leaving me with him?!" came the dual question from both younglings.

"See you guys later."

"He might have the right idea…" Prowl objected some kliks later as they scavenged the semi.

"I thought you didn't like Jazz."

"I don't and I'm even less sure how I feel about you, but I'm out of options. Besides, I thought you all were so committed to having a functioning team of bounty hunters."

Lockdown made some incoherent noise and the Praxian sighed.

"Look. The odds of us surviving this leg of the trip on our own is maybe five out of ten."

"That's pretty high."

"And its assuming all Vesania turbofoxes in the Depths suddenly drop dead."

Nearby there was a garbled yip and a rusting fox stalked toward them, the terrifying yelps and whines of its sulk filling the air.

"How are the odds now?"

"Nonexistent."

The duo shared a glance.

They transformed and took after Deadlock.  
 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Sometime later, the mech and youngling stopped to take refuge in an old warehouse.

Deadlock let his pets out of his cab before transforming and raised an optic ridge at the two figures that had been tailing them. He knew he had a few screws loose, but this kid… Correction, _these_ kids. They had less fear than most. Most younglings would have been caught by now, they didn't have that problem. Theirs was severe overconfidence and it was especially strong with that green one.

"So, you finally decided to come with?"

Lockdown grimaced, EMP field cowed in submission, "There're plague foxes everywhere."

"Hmm. A plagued fox doesn't refuel. Most of them are on their last legs, they'll be about for the lunar joor and leave. We'll wait here."

Prowl slipped past them sat heavily beside the less homicidal of the bunch, who was stoking a trash fire in a short barrel.

"You shouldn't burn things indoors."

"And yah shouldn't be such a slag in the fuel."

"I'll be as slaggy as I like."

Jazz ran his free servo over Gidget, who was writhing on the floor thoroughly enjoying being petted.

"Isn't she a cutie?"

"I guess."

"Scaret' tah touch her? Yah said you liked foxes."

"Yeah, well ones in textpads have never tried to eat me."

Jazz snatched his wrist and forced his servo onto the fox's soft underbelly. Gidget chirped happily. "See? She's a good foxy." Prowl scratched behind her audios and quickly found himself with a lapful of overly friendly vulpine.

"I found your twin, she has just as much regard for personal space as you do."

That comment earned him a partially friendly, partially threatening shove.

The mangled-looking steeljaw trotted up to the fire to flop on his side and direct a snarl their way. Prowl stroked her head, "She looks way better than him."

Mechanimals did not understand Cy-Stan, but they could comprehend inflection. Judging by its sneer the hound took offense and was thinking of taking a few other things.

Then the warehouse door slammed shut, heralding Deadlock, "Down, Gasket, you've had your ration. Ey, Praxian, you making fun of my hound?"

Now that they were out of the smog dimmed light outside, in firelight, the lesions and scars coating the male hound's body were even more visible. "He's really ugly."

Surprisingly, Deadlock laughed, "Yeah, he is. Got him from the Kaon Pits. He's part cyber-wolf. Ever seen a cyber-wolf up close, kid?"

"No."

"Good. They are not pets and he's ornery on a good day."

The steeljaw huffed and began to clean between his toe digits.

"Why do you keep him then?"

"He's a good tracker, companion, he works well with Gidget, and he likes fresh kills," Deadlock sat and manhandled the wolf's front end into his lap, "A wolf will be loyal as long as they are treated well and fed. I am a good alpha to them, they never go hungry. Most 'formers look down on you if you form too close a bond with a mechanimal. They think they're dumb but they're smarter than you think."

Prowl looked him over, Deadlock was almost pleasant with this red opticed personality. "Have you ever seen a Predacon wolf?"

"Plenty."

"What's the difference?"

"They're 'formers like us, it's just near impossible for us to tell 'cause they like to stay hidden. Vehicle-modes aren't exactly nice to beast modes, yannow. They're just about as friendly as the other Predas and by that, I mean they're _**not**_. Just stay out of their way, they're extremely possessive. I knew a mech that killed one. The Preda's whole pack toyed with him for half a vorn and tore him apart. It's brutal but it's their culture."

He tossed some debris on the fire. "We like to think we're above acting like mechanimals but that couldn't be further from the truth."

"How?"

Deadlock canted his helm in that beast-like way again, "How many of there were you before you met me?"

"Three."

"Why?"

"He knows where we're going, he gets us past borders, and I'm a mech of all trades." Jazz offered.

"Why can't you go alone?"

"Because we'd be dead."

"Bingo. Realize you never see many 'formers by themselves. We're drawn to others for a sense of community—and more times than not it breeds pack mentality."

The green youngling snorted, "Why are you alone, then?"

He ran a possessive servo over the steeljaw, "Just doing some work… 'Sides who said I'm by myself?"

"Hey, mutt," Lockdown pulled on the hound's stubby tail and the jaws that earned his breed their name clamped down on the youngling's arm.

Despite his obvious pain, he grinned, "I like him."

Deadlock easily got the steeljaw to release, "He's a good hound, probably saved my life more times than the mech he's named after…"

"The guy can't be happy about that."

"Considering he's dead, Gasket the mech can't really complain."

"What happened?"

"Autobots," Deadlock's faceplate clouded, "The murderous hypocrites… You are better off on the path you're on now, younglings. And you, you're half way to becoming a Decepticon."

Lockdown took offense to that, "I'm not a 'Con, I just like my optics the way they are."

"You know we're always accepting new members. Everyone is welcome."

"Well, we're not interested."

"I am," Jazz countered, earning him dual glares. "What? He's an inner circle Decepticon. If anyone can get us in no problem its him."

"No."

"He can't speak for you all. What do you say Enforcer?"

"I can't…"

"In fact, you look familiar…are you of any relation to—?"

"No."

"CNA is telling, you resemble the Chief of Praxus a lot."

"Leave my si—" Prowl cut himself off, but the gun mech had already caught his slip.

Deadlock smirked, the cruel side of his shifting personality creeping out. "Far from home, aren't we? Wouldn't expect you to know much about things beyond of your city-state and caste, so allow me to tell you how things work outside of mid-caste. If you happen to find yourself going through hard times and you are on the street, be prepared for the part of society your kind can't even fathom. Kidnappings, beatings, violation, experimentation—"

"No one experiments on sentient creatures."

Deadlock stared at him at past the point of making things uncomfortable.

"Sure. You keep thinking that. The longer you stay out here, the more you will find." His optics hovered between black and red, "What do you know about the Decepticons? Beyond what the media says?"

"You're a fanatical group."

"So you know nothing…That assumption would be false. We are the 'formers society has swept aside, the ones that make their way of life possible. Our name was given to us by the same council who wants us eliminated."

The corners of Deadlock's optics flickered anew, "I will tell you a story, mechlings and you don't forget it."

* * *

 **(Shrugs) Deadlock/Drift is cool, okay? And his mercenary personality is the last mech you'd want to babysit.**


	9. Butterfly Effect

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _First attempt at describing the origins of the Great War, mention of past drug use, and (squints at_ _first name_ _on fic) oh yeah, Bumblebee is supposed to be in this story…_

 _Most of this is set back in time, so_ _strap in. We're going to be changing between POV's with many character cameos in between._

* * *

" **Butterfly Effect"**

Storytime with Deadlock was an eerie experience.

One optic lit red, the other nearly black, like two different 'formers trapped in one frame.

It didn't help the Plague foxes had caught up to them and were looking for a way into the warehouse. Their cries and botched attempts at digging through the walls made hollow reverberations through the empty area ending in their corner.

Gasket stood, directing a growl at the tame turbofox sprawled in Prowl's lap and Gidget followed him to the edge of the fire's light to keep watch.

"Ever heard of Rodion?" Deadlock started suddenly.

"My carrier's ex lived there." Lockdown narrowed his optics.

"Well, it was my home state—"

"Do you know a mech named Walker?"

"No."

"What about Lance?"

"No."

"Wha—"

"Interrupt me again and I will throw outside on your helm. Mute it. Find your real sire on your own time."

Prowl noticed he sulked but didn't deny the accusation.

"Now as I was saying...Yeah, I grew up in Rodion on the lower end—the Dead End. Two guesses on how it got that name. Once you wind up there you either turn your life around or die. When people disappear, it's best not to ask questions… But I wouldn't expect you know much about that— "

Again, Lockdown had input.

"Please. The Vosian Mob got our neighbors."

"I'm the one that disappeared." The Praxian admitted.

"Making 'formers vanish is a way of life, same as them up and disappearing," Jazz shrugged, "Doesn't matter the caste, nobody's immune."

He then held up servos in response to a bitter look from Deadlock. "I said _in-caste!_ It wasn't us that messed with the empties, though! I mean, there's nothing to gain there."

The gun-mech hmphed.

"I lived with a few 'formers and Gasket was one of them. Yannow, the mech one. He was a good person and helped us, way too nice a mech for the cut he got in life. He wanted us to better ourselves… "

The scruffy 'former shifted uncomfortably, both optics dimming.

"One cycle…there was a raid…and…well I…lost it and I had to leave because I killed some Autobots that killed Gasket—If I stayed I would have been next, so I ran. I wound up in Kaon. How I got to there is another story for when you're older. Just, whatever you do, don't take syk.

Keep in mind all this was many vorns before your time. Discontent might have started after the Golden Age, but the uprising started with a bar fight. I was waiting for someone and Megatronus came in with two friends. This place wasn't like Maccadam's, the owner didn't want the gladiator type there, there was a confrontation, some yahoo spilled a drink, and all pit broke loose…"

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **~Cybertron, Eons Ago~**

 _If he had known the full scope of what was going to happen that cycle he wouldn't have stayed in Kaon. He would have skipped the Land of the Outlaws and kept right on to the ends of Cybertron. But for right now the scene unfolding in the bar was riveting._

 _And by that he meant terrifying._

 _All he came here for was a pick up—and look where it had gotten him. Hiding under a table while the bar came apart around him. One servo spasmed and he curled it in to hide it. There was no way his provider would come now, on the one cycle he could afford it. He couldn't take much more._

 _Then the table imploded, sending an entire pile of 'formers on top of him. Someone was doing a lot of yelling, and the other someone dragged him outside._

 _First thing that registered was the comparative silence in the alleyway outside, now there was only one 'former shouting. That was the femme opposite him in their "savior's" grip pitching a royal fit._

 _The towering mech restraining her seemed unsure whether to put her down or keep her under his arm. Her bright blue optics narrowed and a lilting accent growled, "LET. ME. GO."_

" _I'm sorry but you seem to be a danger to yourself and oth— OW!"_

 _A stout blade entered his side and the mech released her._

"' _Rion, told you she didn't need any help."_

 _He looked up to see a pair of crimson optics and similar, rusty armor._

 _Huh. For some reason, he'd though that was a wall…a big moving wall with servos…_

 _Slag, his processor was slipping faster than he thought._

 _The blue femme scrubbed her arms free of his EM as she found her peds, "Thank you!" His bulky captor shifted weight, rust-red frame towering a full helm over hers. "So, you got a designation or are we going to have to give you one, short stuff?"_

" _Chromia."_

" _Not from 'round here are you?"_

" _Nah, I'm from off-planet, Caminus, I just didn't get on the ship headed for home."_

" _Why?"_

 _She shrugged. "I was having too much fun here!" The red mech looked up at the skies that alternated between slightly cloudy and smog-filled in most areas. "You chose here over your planet?"_

" _You guys have more going on."_

 _That grin looked forced, but he let it pass. "Anyway, I'm Ironhide, that's Orion, and—"_

 _This so called 'Ironhide' glared down at him, "This is the guy who was hiding under the table…Hey, who are you?"_

 _That was a_ great _question, because he sure didn't know._

 _His frame locked up and began to tremble, "I—I—"_

 _He didn't remember anything after that._

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 _Ironhide dropped the straggly mech on his faceplate._

"' _Hide…"_

" _He's having a syk attack and if he's withdrawing he's gonna do something crazy."_

 _The red and blue propped the spasming mech up gently. "Take it easy, you don't have to tell us."_

 _Orion hefted the him onto his back._

 _The rust colored mech glared, "Nope."_

" _Come on 'Hide…"_

" _I'm not getting dragged into another one of your charity cases. Remember the tank 'former? I remember the tank, Orion, and so does half of Althiex."_

 _Chromia made a small noise, "So I take it you like to help people?"_

" _Who else is going to do it?" he shrugged._

 _He and the warrior caste mech had been longtime friends. Thus, the reason he was even in Kaon. They'd been close in their younger vorns, but mechs in Ironhide's caste were shuffled around Cybertron like playing cards. His latest home was Kaon, attempting to bring order to the literal pits of Cybertronian society. Likewise, the red and blue mech was used to a rowdy crew from his position as a dock worker but Kaon was a different experience all together._

 _Case in point, a rather large avian perched on an eave, watching them watch him._

" _Whoa, look at that."_

" _No offense, but you know you guys have some real ugly wildlife."_

 _The bird's feather-like metal filaments ruffled. "You do not look so great yourself, Caimien."_

 _She backed away, "It talks. What is that thing…"_

 _Optimus nodded, "Are you Preda?"_

 _The avian's long neck swiveled sideways along with his head and it shuffled on its perch, "Symbiote. I bear a message."_

" _Then shoot, birdie, we don't have all cycle." Ironhide grumbled._

" _You all fought in the bar even though it did not concern you? Why?"_

" _Either it was either that or get our helms cleaved off. Nothing special."_

" _It would be…but my host knows and sees much," the avian hopped down from his perch, landing closer to the group he singled out the tallest, "Orion? You have been a wayward mech…researching things a dock worker has no business in. History of the Council? The works of Megatronus? You should be minding your boxes, load bearer."_

" _I believe it's possible to have more than one skill in life. Megatronus makes a valid point. Yes, he is a gladiator, but he has just as much reason to be here as anyone else."_

" _So, could it be, in the deepest recesses of your processor, you were fighting for him? Answer carefully…"_

 _Orion hesitated and went silent._

" _And if we were?" Ironhide challenged._

" _You could be charged with sedition. And your little femme friend has an expired visa…"_

 _Chromia stormed forth and picked the avian up by its neck, "You sure do talk too much."_

 _He squawked and fought to free his neck._

 _Orion finally stepped in prying the symbiote from her crushing grip._

" _I'm interested, but I'd like to hear his intentions first hand."_

" _That's just what I wanted to hear."_

 _A gunmetal frame, altered and logoed for mining, approached them. Megatronus hadn't left the area. The same tricolored Seeker and massive helicopter that had been in the bar flanked him, effectively cornering their group in narrow alley._

 _Ironhide pushed his way past his companions to face the new mechs, "What do you want?"_

" _What I am requesting is your skills."_

 _It would have been a dream come true for Orion if it wasn't for his self-proclaimed bodyguard._

 _Ironhide glanced back at his friend, "I know what you're thinking…"_

"' _Hide, you really want to spend the rest of your function doing something you hate?"_

Orion got a heated comm _._ :: Are we really going to do this now? ::

:: YES. Every time I see you, you look like pit cooled and ask to go to a bar. You can't go anywhere without people being scared of you. You hate your commander and vice versa. I've gone through what this guy is all about. If he can help it can mean a better life for everybody. ::

' _Hide did not look convinced…at first._

 _Gradually, the fatigue sunk in on his faceplate._

:: We'll hear him out. Okay? if anything reeks we'll go. ::

 _The last dregs of resistance melted, "What do you need me to do."_

" _Depends on what you are capable of," Megatronus grinned, "Welcome aboard."_

 _Orion approached him. "I enjoy your work, but your grammar…I…how do I put this…"_

" _It sucks. Get him to help." 'Hide stated._

 _As this was happening Chromia grew restless. There wasn't much she could do, these guys knew about her legal status, until she could alter her frame enough to disappear why not tag along? Then the stoner caught her attention, "Hey, this is great talking and all, but that guy on your back is shaking."_

 _True enough, the mystery mech was going into convulsions._

 _The Seeker's derma curled in disgust, curved wings pinning backwards, "We know someone who can help."_

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 _Megatronus' "base of operations" was crap._

 _That being, a depilated apartment complex that had probably seen better days prior to the Golden Age. As it was now it was a wonder it hadn't fallen in on itself. 'Formers still lived there, though, inhabitants ranging from ex-miners, empties, runaways, to the homeless._

 _Where Optimus wound up was Medical, a room sequestered on the lower levels of the complex and possessed by Flatline._

 _This was the same mech who was manipulating the cables trailing from the now stabilized addict's helm._

 _Watching against his better judgement, the dock worker frowned, "Is he going to be all right?"_

" _Depends," the spines on the inky medic's helm rose and fell as he spoke, "The guy has been a syk user for longer than two vorns, and there's no telling what he was using before. There's so much gunk in his lines and his processor's almost fried—whoops."_

 _A monitor shrieked and he scrambled to shut it off while using his second, smaller, pair of arms to stabilize the mech._

" _What do you mean 'whoops'?"_

" _I miiiiight have severed something important…hand me that soldering iron, will you?"_

 _The medic worked quickly, closing his helm, and sat back with a sigh, multiple servos splattered with energon and cranial fluid. "Well, that was fun." He cocked his helm at Orion and winced, "Nasty dent you've got there, want me to fix it?"_

 _The offer was declined._

 _Not long after that, Orion had had enough and went to join the rest of the group in the lobby. 'Hide and Chromia were occupied talking with the chopper and a tawny, young empty. Not wanting to interrupt, he instead found himself singling out Megatronus lurking in a corner._

" _I don't think Flatline has been a medic for very long."_

 _Megatronus raised an optic ridge, "He isn't one at all, but he's the only one who'll work on us."_

" _Interesting operation you've got here."_

" _It started as a refuge and became our headquarters. It isn't much but its home."_

" _Despite what Ironhide said, I still admire your works."_

" _I know they could use fixing," garnet optics homed in on him, "You seem well versed for a dock worker."_

" _Well, I ah…"_

" _Yet short on words…"_

 _Orion rubbed the back of his helm. "My carrier was archivist caste and my sire wasn't. Once the Council found out, I was transferred to the docks. We lost touch. I know where you're coming from with the differences in class…"_

 _Megatronus nodded even as the lanky mech met his optics._

" _What are you really hoping to accomplish?"_

" _Social upheaval. Something to get us noticed, to make them understand we will not be ignored. Equality. What I need you to do is to help spread it. Let the public know what's going on underneath their olfactories. Can you do that?"_

" _I—I can ask around."_

" _You are too large of a mech to be so sheepish. Have confidence. That is the only thing that will save you." Orion looked up in expectation of a story._

" _I have been in the mines for as long as I can remember. An ex-gladiator named Leviathan was head over our group." The miner paused, frowning, "Why that face?"_

" _I know that designation…"_

 _At this moment, there was a commotion from the medical room and the mystery 'former came out chasing Flatline with a blaster they didn't know he had on him._

 _Gone was the nervous addict and he was replaced by a crazed mech lusting for energon._

 _The enormous chopper mech was able to catch and subdue him, "Aw crud, Flats. AGAIN?!"_

 _The medic leaned on the check-in desk, clearly winded, "Hey, this one is still alive, give me that!"_

 _The smaller mech thrashed and gradually went still, dark optics lightening to red._

" _What—where?" He managed to meet optics with Orion. "What happened?"_

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

"I woke up with two of me instead of one because some med school dropout put his scalpel in the wrong place, but I am grateful for it. One part is what awoke when they killed Gasket, the other is what's left of the old me: Dead-lock. Sometimes we get along, sometimes we don't. On the bright side have a better name now."

He snorted at Prowl's skittish expression.

"Oh, relax, enforcer. You're safe. Mostly.

Self-repair is slow. Flatline says I should make a full recovery this side of next millennia.

Yeah, so Megatronus took in the dock worker Orion Pax, the warrior Ironhide, and the Caimen Chromia. They were the fresh energon the 'Cons needed. Pax was the equalizer to our leader's harsher tactics and the other pair brought militant organization to our ranks. Soundwave, Blackout, and their symbionts kept everything in order.

Anyway, they took me in too and taught me to shoot. I was one of the lookouts for HQ until Soundwave got me into something else.

Then I found out what happened to my friends back in Rodion… Do you know what happens when an empty gets kidnapped? The answer is nothing, no one cares. So, you can only imagine what happened when they razed the whole neighborhood.

Fun times, huh?

The Decepticons are founded on the belief all 'formers are equal. It's just hard getting others to see it our way…

Plenty of things to do with us, though. With me, when they say they need a job done, I go out and do it."

Prowl didn't miss the way he fingered one blaster.

"I'm not the only one."

 **~ Five Vorns Ago, Praxus, East Courier Center~**

 _Deadlock wasn't wrong, but there were other jobs besides hits._

" _It's on the roof again."_

 _A_ _dusky orange femme just clocking in looked up at her colleagues. The 'it' in question was the helicopter mech on the roof._

 _Why was he there? Nobody knew, because no one in the building would go up there to see._

" _Call the Enforcers?"_

" _Again? He just flies off."_

" _Having a giant buzzard on the roof is bad for business."_

 _She let out a hissing sigh; it was far too early in the cycle for this. "Why don't you just ask him what it is he wants?"_

 _All optics turned to her._

 _Lightfire had to open her big mouth…Two kliks and a panicked lift ride later she was on left on the roof with a possibly dangerous flier. He was blatantly Decepticon; abnormally large, 'copter mech, his plating was an almost blue-black and a like colored symbiote scorpion was perched on his shoulder._

" _Excuse me? You with the blades?"_

 _He didn't hear her, but his giant scorpion did. It charged her._

 _Blackout turned around just in time to see his symbiote chasing one of the locals around the roof._

 _He managed to catch Scorponok, calming the Praxian._

" _What—what is—"_

" _This is Scorponok. Who are you?"_

" _Lightfire…"_

" _Blackout." He sat back on the edge of the roof, optics dimming in concentration._

" _You can't be up here, you're loitering."_

" _Oh."_

" _Leave!"_

"' _M not done."_

" _With what?"_

" _Sending propaganda. This is the tallest building in the area and the reception down there sucks."_

" _Was that a joke?"_

" _No."_

" _That is illegal here."_

" _Oh."_

 _She took a moment to compose herself, "Look, Blackout, you can fly, right?"_

" _Yup."_

" _Are you aware your ilk isn't allowed in Praxus?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Why don't you just go somewhere else before I perform a citizen's arrest!"_

 _He rose again, this time to his full height of thirty-three units, looking all the world as if he were going to attack her._

" _Should I be scared?"_

 _She should have been, seeing that she barely cleared the maximum height to be a categorized as mini-bot. Instead she looked like she was about to chase him off the roof or click—or both. Blackout's mind wandered. Wide wings, shapely frame, a that was almost yellow in the right light; she was beautiful. And she was as mad as a slag-hornet._

 _Her wings swiveled and dipped with every word, faceplates showing she was regretting confronting the mech. "Yes, because you will be jailed."_

" _Since you asked nicely then."_

 _His symbiote scuttled over his shoulder, diving beneath his blades to latch on. He pulled one of his rotor blades free, running a digit over the edge. "I don't fear cells," he smiled from behind his facemask, "I need to go…Be seeing you."_

 _Lightfire's co-workers were surprised when she came back unscathed, even more so when she neglected to say anything else about the encounter._

 _So, the Praxian finished her run and went home._

 _Unfortunately, no one explained to her the thing about helicopters. Contrasting Seekers, they were seriously lacking in the speed department and loners—excepting their mate or whoever they'd picked as a potential candidate. Once that occurred they were not easily deterred. This was only made worse considering Blackout had a hacker's access to all information in the area._

 _Lightfire made it back to her flat, only to find the huge chopper had made himself at home inside._

" _Hi."_

" _Gah! What are you doing here?!"_

" _Finishing," he held up and empty can, "You're out of oil."_

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 _That night, back at HQ, a slightly built mech glared at the back of his roommate's helm in their shared quarters._

" _Yeah, Creepy?"_

 _Soundwave's red lit visor sparked in the corner at the affectionately rude moniker. He supposed there were worse things to be than labeled uncanny minion of the underworld. The rumor was untrue, of course, but he did not care. If it helped him get his job done, it was welcome._

 _He supposed from another 'formers point of view he was rather creepy. He was the color of a faded frame, had an array of nearly sentient data collection cables hidden all over his frame, and barely spoke. Even among those of their own build he was considered odd._

 _Symbiont Transformers occurred sporadically in every build and caste. On the scale of noble and sparked out-of-caste, they ranked in the middle of the road. Oh, they were prized for their abilities, yet were looked upon as freaks. Fortunately, in times as these being a freak of nature paid well. He and Blackout were familiar with that aspect._

 _Contrary to what his size might have insinuated, Blackout was not stupid and unlike most, quiet, if a bit absentminded._

 _He'd known the chopper from the first moment of either of their existence._

 _They were both Made to Orders, part of small operation everyone suspected went on but could never prove. When someone needed a specific type of Transformer they were made. For the right price, they could even be tailored down to the speed their optics closed. The Council had been well off and more than willing to pay for an exorbitant amount of specialization including tech that was unheard of to the public._

 _Their given function?_

 _Surveillance, data-collection, and in some cases—elimination._

 _Given his spindly frame, Soundwave was the mech who would stay at headquarters and log; Blackout went out into the field. As they improved they were given symbiotes tailored to them to help in collection._

 _It would be his first symbiont, Ravage, who'd be responsible for discovering Megatronus. He evaluated his position on opposing the Council and then the life they had with their "employers". After that, the choice was simple. They faked their deaths and joined the Kaonite underground._

 _The former gladiator took care of he and his associate, both of their talents transferred beautifully to their new role as Decepticons. In the past vorns, their ranks had swelled in multiple city-states over Cybertron, they had a better base, and their methods of persuasion escalated. Peaceful resistance hadn't met with any results, so they began to fight back, producing an air of fear. If they couldn't convince society to change they could force it to._

 _Still, the cause had a habit of attracting a certain type of Transformer. The word for them was freaks. From the former addict, he'd been put in charge of, to the criminally insane, to your standard disgruntled low-caste 'former. It was pit trying to organize them all, but everything was going according to plan, he'd made sure of it._

 _At least that what he'd thought until he saw Blackout stroll into their shared quarters, irritatingly happy._

 _His voice rippled out in harmonics, "What are you so pleased about?"_

" _I met a femme."_

 _Soundwave watched Ravage hissing at the symbiote scorpion crawling onto his desk._

" _In Praxus?"_

" _Yeah."_

" _You're wasting time."_

 _Blackout made a noncommittal noise. "So?"_

" _Praxians are inefficient cohorts."_

" _Wha—"_

" _They are distantly related to Seekers and lightweight, but not inherently aggressive. They do not have a prey drive, they can't fly, and their doorwings are a liability in combat. Inefficient." He finished with a click. "If you're going to play about, find someone with a worthwhile build."_

" _You think too much, Soundwave."_

 _Soundwave soon found his suspicions were justified._

 _It wasn't a full three orns after meeting that femme before Blackout started behaving…oddly. Frequently going out, hoarding bedding materials and odd bits of supplies… Then he'd come in several orns later looking suspicious._

" _Um. Soundwave."_

 _In his servo was a tiny newborn sparkling, armor freshly hardened and a tad over an orn old._

" _Lightfire had to work this cycle and I've got patrol, can you—"_

 _Soundwave forced him outside and locked him out of their room._

:: Wave, please? ::

:: I am not sparkling sitting your glitched hybrid spawn. ::

:: SOUNDWAVE! He's not glitched. ::

:: You may as well prepare yourself. Your winged doxie might get run out of Praxus for this if anyone else finds out and don't get me started on Megatron. What were you thinking? We're in the middle of a revolution! ::

:: She's not just my doxie—we bonded. ::

 _There was a pause._ :: Have you been taking Deadlock's **stupid pills**? ::

:: Don't you want something to enjoy afterwards? ::

:: I am more focused on what lies in our immediate future. Combat and likely, death. That will also include all whom you are close to. You realize if I'm not on my best we all could be hunted down by the Autobots and taken out before we even have a chance to make a difference. I rely on you to keep an optic on security when I'm occupied, you're the only other mech that can handle a mental strain that big. ::

:: Nothing is going to happen if I can help it. ::

:: You're truly set on this…fine. ::

:: So, you're staying? ::

:: On the condition, you keep your home and work life separate. ::

:: About that… Scorponok kinda got her kicked out of her flat…so she's going to stay with me… here. ::

Soundwave unlocked the door to put his helm out.

:: I hate you. ::

:: Thanks 'Wave. ::

 _He would grow to tolerate Goldbug, since he got along so well with the symbiotes. Being the spawn of a symbiont, he took after the non-symbiont parentage in looking more like a Praxian than a flier. He wouldn't have the abilities of symbiont and if his hyperactivity was anything to go by he was just going to have hybrid coding. It wasn't an ideal mix, but he would be far from useless._

 _He kept Deadlock's personalities entertained._

 _Gradually, Soundwave became used to Lightfire, since he masked her presence on base and she, in turn, provided them with inside information while avoided him like the plague. Soundwave would even come to stand not being close to Blackout anymore. Vorns went on, with the key word was_ _standing_ _his partner's domestic bliss, not_ _accepting_ _it._

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

"Megatronus was willing to do what no one else had, give me a chance to be more than some burned out syk user with no future and no discernable talents other than common thievery…

I discovered I had excellent marksmanship, I made friends, I got a pet, then two, and for that I thank the 'Cons for giving me a new purpose. Now you have the chance to do the same."

Deadlock propped up against the wall behind him, "We don't take our operatives by force, the choice is yours to join us. I'm also heading to Iacon…you have until then to make up your minds."

Lockdown glared, "My answer is still no."

Deadlock's personality shifted, "And I still don't care, pipsqueak."

Jazz watched him stretch and dig through an assortment of metal, "Can we get one more story? Please?"

"Sure. Once upon a time, there were three stupid sparklings that wandered into an industrial sector and died." He slammed a makeshift lid over the top of the barrel fire, smothering it. His dim-lit optics glittered in the dark, "The end."

Jazz waited until he'd folded into his alt. "That story sucks!"

"Go to recharge!"

Considering the cycle they had, it didn't take long and the gun mech set off to a distant part of the building, leaving Gidget on watch.

He unsubspaced a pad and waited for the picture to clear and a red visor glowered back at him.

"You have a report, Deadlock?"

"Always so impersonal, 'Wave. Guess what I did today."

"No. Did you find Tirade?"

"Nah, his sulk got the Plague and turned on him, then I ran into some smugglers."

"Then what is it?"

"I have kids."

Back in the Decepticon HQ, Ravage and Lazerbeak were mildly concerned when their host sputtered.

"What did you do this time?"

He cringed. Count on a symbiote build to be obsessive about the welfare of younglings. "They stole a semi and I almost shot them. They won't go home and now they're following me around."

"Send a picture."

After a nano of analyzation he responded. "Bring them onwards, better they are with us than the Autobots."

"Seriously? Why? The doorwinger doesn't want to, I hate the green one, and the one with visor is crazier than me."

"Deadlock, do as I say or the only personality you will have is _brain-dead_."

Back in Kaon, Blackout snorted.

"Getting ruthless, aren't we?" the huge chopper called from the terminal next to him.

"It is like dealing with a distracted sparkling. How long until Flatline completely fixes him?"

The chopper's only response was a deadpan gaze.

Soundwave's visor reset and he pinched the area where the bridge of his olfactory would have been if he didn't have a facemask as well. "Bad question, wasn't it."

"Kinda," Blackout crossed his arms and nodded to the screen, "The little, white and black one, isn't that the guy that did the credit job? I thought the virus you sent incapacitated him?"

"It was _supposed_ to. I didn't factor in highly adaptive coding. He's a trained assassin. The Praxian is the chief Enforcer of Praxus', skilled in tactical—or he would be if he applied himself—and the third is a black-market supplier with has a nascent habit of harvesting add-ons from his victims. Those would be a welcome addition to our ranks…"

"Flatline is gonna love the green one."

"But—"

"Hmm?"

"The strange part is all three are recorded as still incarcerated."

A little yellow mechling scrambled over his sire's rotor-blades only to be plucked up by his scruff.

"If the chief is involved, it's something shady going on. The guy is evil incarnate."

"Oh?"

The chopper caught his sparkling in one massive arm, "You know the spam runs I do in each state, right? And how at least a fourth of the population notices the transmissions and contacts us? From Praxus, not a one. No 'former wants to get charged with treason. He's got the whole city-state terrified. His own kid hates him."

"You know this how?"

"Lightfire had a run in their part of the city…I got her to take Scorponok along. She found out more than I ever wanted to know."

The sparkling blinked, sky blue optics stuck on the youngling on screen. Besides his carrier and his reflection, he hadn't seen another 'former his build. He hadn't been to Praxus since he was little—well littler. His carrier never took him anymore and she always said it was too dangerous. The same reason his always sire gave when he asked why he couldn't roam freely on-base. "He's 'raxian like me?"

Soundwave made a noise of objection that was covered by Blackout speaking, "Yeah, Goldbug, like you."

"He's gonna come here?"

"Yup."

"Cool!"

The slate grey mech gave his coworker a dirty look that could only be described as if he'd swallowed rancid energon. "Exactly why we don't bring sparklings in where sensitive material is involved."

He shrugged apologetically and handed Goldbug off to his waiting symbiont.

"Won't happen again, Creepy."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Prowl started when Deadlock came back and drifted off, upon which he began to make the most ungodly snoring noises ever. Between the gun-mech and the screaming foxes outside recharge would not come easily. Or at all.

He sat up, intent on going somewhere else to sleep, and started when he looked right into Jazz's online visor.

The Polyhexian had found his blind spot and looked pretty smug about it.

"Can you _not_ watch me sleep?"

"No. Can't recharge?"

"Uh-uh."

"Need some help?"

"Whatever you have I don't want."

"Buzzkill."

"Jazz, this is a bad idea."

"Fine…but for the record I was gonna hit you in the back of the helm."

"Not that!" His optics darted to the gun-mech folded in vehicle mode.

"You ever think the reason why yah don't have any friends is cuz you're so uptight?"

Prowl snarled, wings snapping up, and he jabbed the Polyhexian with a digit.

"Do you ever think I know what I'm _**talking**_ about?" He folded his wings back down, realizing he'd startled Gasket awake with his EM flare. It seemed even with most of Cybertron between them he couldn't escape his sire's influence.

He took a calming vent, "Deadlock isn't stable by a long shot. I don't have enough digits to count all the times I thought he was going to kill us. The Decepticons just took over an entire city-state and they're after more. If they really believed in peace they wouldn't sink to that level. This can't end well. Now, I want you to think about what type of Transformers would willingly endorse or even need a mech like him. Then I want you to look me in the optics and tell me you still want to join them. I thought the Enforcers taught you better than that."

"You're not thinking straight… You'd run back to the same caste that hates you?"

"No, but I keep their values. It's called being grounded. That's what I'm here for isn't it?" he mocked.

Now it was Jazz's turn to become uncomfortable under that icy gaze.

"Don't do something you might not live to regret. Pretty sure that's the last thing your clan would want." Prowl settled on his side, back toward him, "Deadlock is correct about one thing. We've got a long way to go, recharge on it."

Sometime later, after Prowl had dropped into recharge on his own terms, Jazz was still sitting on his knees with much to process. Lockdown tapped him on the shoulder, having been awake and seen the whole exchange.

"You couldn't do it. One chance to impress your idol and you blew it."

Jazz put his hidden shank away. "Not the right time."

"PLEASE. Old Chiefy paid and you took out our old roommate in a nano flat, _in front of a guard._ You can't kill him because he told you a sob story, now you like him, ya flake."

"Shuddup."

"MECH UP. We can't afford to have him alive and his sire after us. You have a job to do so you better fricking well do it. You're embarrassing yourself."

Jazz bowed his helm, visor darkening, "You're right."

"I know I am. Next time, _finish it_."

* * *

 **I hate this chapter** _ **so much.**_ **(Slams head on desk)**

 **There's method to the madness though; the war had to start somewhere. Nearly everyone in this chapter will be popping up again eventually.**

 **This is also my explanation for why doorwinger Bumblebee has four fingers and an extra set of sensory panels in most versions, why Movie Blackout and Soundwave seem to share tech abilities, and why Deadlock is—the way he is.**

 **(rubs forehead)**

 **Next time, we're (fortunately) back to shenanigans with the felons.**


	10. Breakaway

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _I like_ _using Google translate for language shifts…and I can barely get English right… I pick the language based on what it might sound like compared to Earth dialects. No offense meant by language choice or errors._

 _Also, Prowl is that guy in the theater you wanna sock._

* * *

" **Breakaway"**

Deadlock was neither a morning person, nor a night owl. Whenever he managed to wake, he was active.

This cycle found him far too giddy for this early joor and leaning over the snoozing triad of younglings.

The annoying one laid flat on his back, arms crossed against his chest in front of him. The Praxian was sprawled everywhere and the one with the visor had managed to curl up between the both, helm wedged in the green one's side and peds across the latter.

He beamed at Gasket. "Just like a box of flat-kits. They look so peaceful, don't they?"

He snorted.

"Want to do the honors?"

The half-steeljaw crawled over the younglings, selecting Jazz to lick. Each graze became toothier, until he had most of his arm down his gullet.

The Polyhexian woke with a scream, the other two with blows not meant for them.

"Rise and shine, bitlets, we survived the lunar joor!"

Jazz was occupied with cleaning canid drool off himself. "Why does he want to eat me so bad?"

"He's acquired a taste for sentient metal." Deadlock stretched lazily. "Don't know why, its _horrible_ stuff, turns your tank something awful…even worse if it's not fresh."

The gunmech strolled out to the rear exit of the warehouse.

Lockdown frowned, gradually recovering from a sparkattack. "There's no way he could know that, unless— Taking mods is one thing, but he actually— Nah, he's joking… No one does that. Right?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." Deadlock called back.

Prowl gave Jazz a sidelong look. "What did I tell you?"

"Shuddup."

"The guy is practically a Terrorcon." Judging by the strained tone in his vocalizer, the mods rustler was spooked. He had a right to be. The only thing worse than Predacons were the cannibalistic 'formers. It seemed Prowl had a gift for logic and activating people's critical thinking.

"I've met them, nice people." Deadlock added with a sinister grin, primary fangs curling over his derma. "Now are you going to come out or am I going to have to come in and get you?"

Now even Jazz was making a way to the front exit.

Gidget made a groaning noise and headbutted her alpha's shin.

"Okay, fine. It was a bad joke. Hurry up."

Prowl didn't believe a word he said, but he was their only hope of getting out of this wasteland alive. So, he followed: outside into dark as common for most parts of Cybertron, past the foxes they were warned not to touch, and to wherever the gunmech lead them next.

Converse to its start, the rest of their trip through The Ferrin Depths was uneventful, only cut by Deadlock's random bursts of conversation. The nice side of him seemed to enjoy their company and genuinely be concerned about their wellbeing. The other part wanted them gone.

So, they took turns fielding the gunmech's occasional mood swings. Prowl or Jazz handled the first side and Lockdown was more than willing to argue with the other.

This cycle they were several tics from being out of the wasteland. In the middle of telling some strange tale though, Deadlock slowed and let his pets out.

"Alright. Progress."

On the horizon, several other Transformers were approaching and he shifted to bipedal mode to wait.

"Who are they?"

"Terrorcons?"

His optics rolled, "Just shush, I need to take care of some business. Don't stare. Be nice."

The group that joined them were a mix of derelict mechs, Decepticons, and a few Predacons. Deadlock was completely at ease, waving the eight over.

The younglings couldn't understand a word of the ensuing conversation. Prowl caught a few snatches of Kaonite, excepting that the language was completely unfamiliar.

Packets, different weaponry, phials, and what looked like paint found their way out of subspace and traded servos, along with boxes scavenged from the semi. All while they continued in that same alien tongue, acting like old friends…

Bright orange optics soon locked with Prowl's own and an imposing saurian mech jostled his fellows before approaching him.

" _Hey, la. W ap komik kap ..."_ ("Hey, there. You're funny looking ...") He knelt, sharp digits trailing over one doorwing and pulling it out to examine. _"Guys, li te gen zèl men li pa ka vole!"_ ("Guys, it has wings but cannot fly!")

Prowl cringed away. "Why is he touching me?"

" _Li nan paske—"_ ("It's because—") Deadlock frowned and started over, "It's because some Predas have a thing for doorwingers."

"What kind of thing?"

"They think your useless panels make you _bèl_ –ackk what is the Cy-Stan glyph? Cute. He thinks you're cute. Sparkling cute, mind you."

"What's their word for stop groping me?"

He shrugged, "Hissing works."

Looking at the massive saurian 'former, Prowl decided against that.

Meanwhile, Jazz had been following the conversation, attempting a greeting as he scrunched his faceplates. _"Alo."_

The mechs erupted into laughter and continued.

A lynx-like 'former made, seeming to be the ringleader, made a rude snort. _"Ou pa janm vini alantou ankò, pup. Where've ou te? "_ ("You never come around anymore, pup. Where've you been?")

 _"Okipe."_ ("Busy.")

" _Kite sa yo monstr chwazi sou nan Helm pòv ou ..."_ ("Letting those monsters pick about in your poor helm…")

Deadlock waved him off. There were more important matters to close.

 _"Dyatrib li mouri. rena Plauge. "_ ("Tirade is dead. Plauge foxes.")

The shorter mech paused, then sneered.

 _"Pa ta dwe janm te kite yo ede ke yon moun opticed move lespri sou. Ki sa ki gen li te kite kounye a? Se pa boude, pa gen lavi."_ ("Should have never left to help that one opticed demon. What has he left now? No sulk, no life.")

 _"Ou te janm gen anyen bèl vle di, Bobtail?"_ ("Do you ever have anything nice to say, Bobtail?")

Bobtail did not.

Like most Predas, he was wary of vehicle modes. Occasionally, there were exceptions like himself and select members of Bobtail's pack. Like Tirade, he walked among vehicle modes and Predacons. Unlike the late mech, Deadlock didn't have the CNA to back him up. Some Predacons were willing to accept empty, low-caste, and Decepticon 'formers to ease business transactions. Still, even that trust had its limits. It was difficult convincing them to aid what they deemed "vehicle mode problems". A large group of Predas folded after learning it could improve their lives.

 _"Se konsa, sa nouvèl Sparkless Vag a genyen?"_ ("So what news does the Sparkless Wave have?")

 _"Megatronus gen yon demonstrasyon te planifye nan Praxus. Li te mande pou koperasyon ou ak sekrè."_ ("Megatronus has a demonstration planned in Praxus. He's asking for your cooperation and secrecy.")

 _"Kisa n'ap fè?"_ ("What are we doing?")

 _"Kòm Soundwave di Operation: Destriksyon."_ ("As Soundwave says Operation: Destruction.")

 _"Pa fè sa. Ou son grenpe, pup."_ ("Don't do that. You sound creepy, pup.") The mech shifted as he noted the visored youngling had flinched. _"Li vle nou demantle yon antye vil-eta a, pa sèrvo? Jis ki jan anpil ap vini? "_ ("He wants us to raze a whole city-state, by servo? Just how many are coming?")

 _"Kòm anpil yo te vise sou pa pi wo-castes yo. Dwe prepare."_ ("As many have been

screwed over by the higher-castes. Be prepared.")

The lynx build leaned past Deadlock, feral yellow optics roving over the younglings, he raised an optical ridge. He knew one part of him wasn't kid friendly, so bringing them along wasn't the gunmech's doing.

 _"Ki sa li vle yo pou?"_ ("What does he want them for?")

 _"Ki jan mwen ta dwe konnen? Old anonim di few l 'ask mien ale."_ ("How should I know? Old faceless says do it and I go.")

Bobtail shrugged, gaze traveling back to the younglings.

 _"Kenbe yon optik sou yo. Yo ap toujou nan laj la pou reformatters sib yo."_ ("Keep an optic on them. They're still at the age for reformatters to target them.")

 _"Dakò."_ ("Okay.")

And just as quickly as they came the group was gone.

"So, who were they?" Lockdown challenged.

"Friends of friends. Some of Tirade's pack actually." He stowed the goods away in various pockets. "You kids want to go into town?"

"Really?"

"Yup. C'mere first."

Deadlock then took him by the arm and began to fiddle with the main junction at the base of his neckcables, much to Lockdown's dismay.

"Hold up, stop squirming!"

"Why me?"

"Because I hate you most. Now watch and learn, bitlets. See this grey thing I have? This is a chip, some'll disguise your form, this one here just changes your colors. Why do we need a color change?"

"To throw people off about where and who we are."

"Excellent, visor." Deadlock's own paint rippled pixelating into a cleaner, black and red paint job.

Prowl cocked his helm, "Why don't you visit a wash rack while we're there? You smell."

"Watch the way you speak to your elders."

"You smell, _sir._ "

"Anyway, it takes more to mask yourself if you're a vehicle mode. I'm not washing off my camouflage. If you smell like your environment you can't be tracked as easily."

Jazz met the flat look the Praxian gave him with a comm. _:: Okay, okay. I get it! ::_

"That's gross, mech."

Deadlock ignored them. "Okay, you're free, change for us."

Lockdown ripped his arm free, paint rippling into a reversed job with black as the dominant color.

"You know there are a lot of other colors you can choose—"

"This is fine."

He threw up his servos and left the stubborn youngling alone.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Two joors later, Prowl was in a theater with a reversed paint job and incredulity seething from every vent.

"Seriously? He just tripped on air!"

Jazz rested his helm on the back of his seat with a deep groan. "Hush, Prowler."

That word wasn't in the Praxian's vocabulary right now.

"There was nothing there, how can you trip?"

"I dunno. Some people get tripped up when they're scared."

"It's lazy writing to kill off a character. Horror is a stupid subgroup."

"You wouldn't be talking if it were a real one, you'd be too scared." Lockdown hissed. "And it's sci-fi/horror, you lugnut."

"Then that makes it dumber."

The mech behind Deadlock kicked his seat. "Hey, down in front, shut up!"

He let out a fanged snarl that silenced him before glaring at the doorwinger.

"You know, in theaters people pay for quiet."

"And terrible quality entertainment. This is completely unrealistic!"

 _:: How have you not killed him yet? ::_ Deadlock growled.

 _:: Jazz is lazy. ::_ Lockdown sent.

 _:: It's jus not the right time… ::_

He frowned at their conviction at what had been a joke. _:: In my day, we didn't go after members of our own pack. ::_

Lockdown raised an optic ridge, _:: He's not pack, he's Jazz's latest job. ::_

 _:: You mean… ::_

The youngling sent a snapshot of splattered fuel energon.

 _:: Yup. ::_

And the guy had no idea… Well, it was none of his business.

 _:: Not wise to play with your food. Wouldn't have counted you as the type for assassinations. ::_

 _:: Not my style, not my job. They wouldn't see me coming though. ::_

Before Deadlock could ask what he let slip, the youngling swatted his annoying seatmate.

"Shut up, people are trying to enjoy themselves. Turn your processor off!"

"The bloodstains are completely unrealistic!"

The gun mech paused, "Okay, I'll give you that, kid."

Jazz groaned and dug around in the packet in his lap, before stuffing a smooth treat into the other youngling's mouth.

"Mphh!"

"My thoughts exactly."

Deadlock rose lazily, "I'm bored. Gonna take a leak and find the pets. Try not to get mobbed while I'm gone?"

He got two affirmatives and one muffled hiss.

The treat stuck firmly to the roof of Prowl's mouth for a solid 30 kliks and it was obvious when it finally dissolved.

"The creature isn't dead, it comes back in the third act."

True enough, the organic mutant revived and the mini-bot femme behind them dumped her drink on Prowl's helm.

"Hey!"

"Nex 'ime yah learn 'ah shu' up, little doorwinger!"

"That's it…" Lockdown swung around, wet and sick of talking. "I can't get him to shut up, but I _know_ I can silence you, midget."

The visored femme glared and her semi-hauler companion rose, knuckles releasing pressure, "Ah, so yah need us tah teach ya some manners, 'eh?"

Jazz and Prowl followed his lead, blocking the screen.

"You want to repeat that?"

Lockdown just registered a fist flying at his face before the world went askew.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

A short klik later, they'd been kicked out and were currently roaming the streets.

"My face hurts."

"It should. It just got punched in by a semi."

"When are yah gonna learn the minis always have a big friend?"

"You two were supposed to be _helping._ "

"Ah draw tha line at fighting femmes. They're **mean.** "

Prowl shuddered, "Tell me about it."

"Yah should know it by now, Lock."

"Whatever." The green mechling went quiet, probably to soothe his bruised ego, and Jazz started muttering to himself, repeating basic Cy-Stan and giving the Predus equivalent.

"Not gonna work." Prowl mentioned.

"What?"

"You can't learn Predus like that. It's a spoken language. " He continued. "The dialect and words change from region to pack. And then there's the subliminal noises, gestures, and EM flares."

"But can they understand what you're saying if you know the basics?"

"Well…yes…"

" _Sore dakede mondai wa arimasen."_ ("That's all that matters then.") Jazz chirped, pleased he knew that in Praxian.

"How come you two talk to each other so much?!" Lockdown snipped.

Jazz shrugged, "He only yells at me half the time. You jealous I got a new buddy?" he looped an arm around both mechs. "It's okay. You're still my favorite."

The green mech rumbled.

Prowl squirmed, attempting to escape with zero success. "Lockdown, what city are you from?"

"Hm?"

"You want to talk. Where are you from?"

"Obelisk."

"Family?"

"Too many."

"He's got all sisters, that how ah met him."

"You're a creep and a pervert, Jazz."

The Polyhexian snickered and retracted his visor, revealing bright blue optics. "He caught me across the optics with a pole and he broke the lenses. Had to wear a visor for a few orns and liked the way it looked. So ah owe yah that. Then we both got sent tah prison and got tah be roomies! That was when he stole my berth."

"I WAS THERE FIRST. GET THAT THROUGH YOUR THICK HELM."

"Sure, but we can all get along, right?"

Lockdown snorted. _:: What are you doing? ::_

 _:: Roll with it. ::_

He looked up only to see their circumstantial guardian taking a comm.

"There he is."

"He's really into that conversation."

"Aw, he's too far away… Wanna hear what they're talking about?"

Lockdown gave him a look, "You are so nosy. Yes."

Jazz pulled at one audio and linked them over comm.

 _:: Look Soundwave, I'm going as fast as I can. Get off my case. ::_

 _:: You told them they would have time. Good tactic, but you_ _don't_ _. Get them to one location and wait. ::_

 _:: So soon? ::_

 _:: You've got more assignments, remember? ::_

 _:: Whaddaya want with them, anyway? ::_

Soundwave seemed to relent, opting for a persuasive tone.

 _:: Nothing harmful. I'm curious about one in particular. It will just a brief examination, maybe some convincing to join. Wouldn't want them to fall into the wrong servos. ::_ The gunmech's posture relaxed as he continued, _:: Give them the opportunity you had Deadlock. ::_

Prowl and Lockdown then noticed Jazz was shaking.

"What's with you?" the latter grunted.

"That—that's Soundwave on the other line…. They call him a demon, mech. He's on the blacklist, not someone you want to mess with. Spec. ops doesn't touch him."

"So? There's your higher- _higher_ up for you waiting with open arms. Go join." Prowl urged, his tone oozing sarcasm.

If he heard, he didn't show it. "I don't wanna."

"What?"

"If he asked for us personally and you guys aren't there, I don't want to go."

Prowl frowned. He was scared. The pint-sized mechling that looked danger in the faceplate and asked it out was terrified of the spymaster.

"He used to work for the council and go by a different designation before he joined the 'Cons. I hear he can mess with your helm. I understood one thing that kitty Preda told Deadlock: look out for reformatters. They make you different on the inside and you're never you again. I think—he can do the same thing. I don't want to be a symbiote, guys."

Lockdown wasn't intimidated. They were here and the tentacle demon was in Kaon, in the opposite direction. It was a simple matter of evasion. As for Jazz's worries about being altered…

"Why would he make you a tiny sym? Shock troops are more valuable. Besides you know where symbiotes come from—"

Suddenly, the line fuzzed, doubtlessly from a routine scan.

 _:: Deadlock. Who else is on the line? ::_

The mech lowered one servo and met the youngling's optics, his own turning an odd mix of black and red. Somewhere in there, there was pity, but it was rapidly vanishing.

"Sorry you had to hear that…"

One moment he was across the street, the next he was nearly on top of them.

That jarred Lockdown into action. "Go. GO! SPLIT UP!"

The elder two headed for a crowd and Jazz ducked into an empty square.

He nearly slid into a swirling, upright pool of blues and greens.

That sent him backing away in a hurry.

A ground bridge portal…with no containment arch. His armor resumed shivering. It had to be Soundwave, there was no other explanation. He skirted the wall and ran.

 _:: GUYS! ::_

 _:: Get off the line, he knows! ::_

 _:: He can control ground bridges! ::_

The warning came just in time.

Prowl fell into the portal and he only just managed to get out again with Lockdown dragging him back. "No kidding."

"What now?"

The green mechling pulled him behind a stack of crates as Deadlock and Gasket went tearing by, the mech yelling into his comm.

"We keep moving and stay out of view. Stay out of their sight and any cameras."

This tactic seemed to work for a short while. Jazz managed to have gotten them off their tail. At least that's what they thought until Gidget cut them off.

The monochrome vixen trotted up deftly with head low and audios pinned back, much different from the amicable pet they'd come to know.

"Hey, um…nice foxy." Lockdown tried.

She snarled and let out a hunting cry, forcing them into an alley with high walls and no windows.

"Slag."

In no time at all, Gasket had also convened on the pair, herding Jazz in with them.

Prowl's wings met notched metal. "They want us in one place so all Soundwave has to do is suck us up."

Jazz checked the walls and nodded, "Find some hand holds and you two climb up. I'll be right there."

He was met with looks of bewilderment.

"Ah'll be fine, but cover your audios. Ahm bout tah get loud."

He turned to face the snarling pair and unfurled a set of speakers at the base of his shoulders.

"Hope yah like Tetrahex Thrash."

An amplified thrum that sounded like tortured screaming resonated down the alley he was trapped in, shattered any windows within a tick radius, and of course felled the canids.

Jazz scaled the wall and landed with a flourish as if nothing happened.

"You modified your siren." Prowl breathed.

"Yup, even the lights." He flashed them briefly, multi-colored light pulsating. "Going to yell?"

"I was going to say that was brilliant."

"Same here," Deadlock said, stepping out onto the roof.

A bridge spawned behind them and they were stuck between a Lock and a hard place.

"Look, I know you don't trust me, but just go. Odds are you'll be in a lot trouble if the Autobots get a hold of you. 'Wave's an aft, but he won't hurt you."

There was also no way they'd be allowed to leave after that.

Prowl noted the Polyhexian covertly slip a servo into a subspace pocket.

"Sorry…we said we're going to Iacon an we're going."

He then tossed a canister into the portal and— it dissipated.

Deadlock's optics narrowed and he pulled one blaster. "You three are more trouble than you're worth."

The trio jumped and folded into vehicle mode, taking their chances on the road verses alone in an alleyway.

As it turned out, it was just as hard trying to shake Deadlock there as well. It wasn't blatant with all the warrior class armor what build he'd been previously. One thing was certain: on a hunt, the guy was **fast**.

Finally, Lockdown spun out behind a restaurant signaling the group to halt.

"We're never going to outrun him."

"Then what do you want us to do?!"

Lockdown gave the Praxian a brief glance. Prowl transformed and climbed to perch on the edge of a dumpster. "He can't find us if he can't smell us."

"This is crazy…" Jazz panicked.

"He hangs out with wild mechanimals, Decepticons, and a tentacle demon. Is it really that unbelievable he can smell us?"

Lockdown tensed yanked them down into the filth, keeping a firm grip on their shoulders.  
"Don't make a _sound_."

The gunmech was getting closer, but Lock didn't budge. He looked like he was focused on something far away from here. Then he was gone.

Jazz looked around, but only saw the dumpster. With another sweep, he realized couldn't even see himself.

Deadlock searched the area for a long joor, checking in the dumpster multiple times before giving up.

Considering last time, the younglings stayed put long into the lunar joor, then made their escape.

It was daylight by the time they made it to another, nearby city-state and found shelter on someone's back porch.

Lockdown was exhausted and crashed on the sofa, quickly joined by the other two on either side of him. Silence reigned until Prowl started making hissing noises.

"Yah okay over there?"

"No!" He burst into wild laughter, optics bright and animated, "That—that was actually fun!"

"See? There is life beyond tha pads."

"That was stellar, Lockdown."

"Nobody says stellar anymore." Jazz chided.

"Who did you steal that ability from?"

"I've always been able to do that," the green mech mumbled, "Soundwave's not the only one who's weird."

"You're an outlier?" Prowl sat up. "No slag?"

"Yeah."

"Wild."

"No one says that either."

"Then I think we have our team together." The Praxian grinned. "If we've made it this far and we can outpace a mercenary there's no stopping us."

Lockdown was more in recharge by now than alert. "We still don't have anything to trade to get credits for a ship, even the dumpy ones."

"Well, we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way then." Jazz put in.

"Oh no."

"What?" Prowl asked.

"He's gonna sing for credits."

"Yah know I'm awesome. We get jobs along the way, save up for a ship, and we'll go to Iacon to get off planet."

"I'm coming with then." Prowl nodded.

"Oh?"

"I still want to stop off in Praxus, but, there's nowhere else to go. I'll come with you."

The other two shared a glance and Jazz grinned. "Alrighty then. Go team."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Deadlock made it back to his pets a few klicks after he'd given up. Gasket and Gidget quickly crawled into his cab, audios still ringing, no doubt.

The steeljaw whined and helm butted his seats.

He sent a comforting pulse to them. "Not your fault, we'll have a good hunt next time."

Before he could do much else the irritating ping of a comm. sounded.

 _:: I assume you've collected your pack? ::_

 _:: Yeah, the one with the visor has a loud stereo— ::_

 _:: Do you have the younglings? ::_

 _::_ _No._ _They got away. Did you_ _ **not**_ _see that grenade? ::_

 _:: Deadlock. ::_

 _:: Don't 'Deadlock' me. I tell you not to comm. me in the field! Now are you going to send a bridge or not? ::_

 _:: We'll discuss this at the base. ::_

He snarled at the quickly severed line and turned attention back to the shell-shocked canids in his cab.

"Like scrap we will."

* * *

 **Predus= Haitian Creole**

 **Praxian= Japanese**

 **And yes, that thing with Lockdown is cannon…sort of… It's complicated, but then again, what in Transformers isn't?**

 **TFwiki says Lockdown has cloaking ability that shorts out in the rain. It was never used officially, but** _come on._ **Even if it wasn't, as many upgrades he had on the show you know he has something like that. Despite him freaking me out in TFA, I am starting to like this guy.**

 **Next up, flashbacks and light conversation in a Decepticon breakroom.**

 **Also, thank you for feedback and reading! (gives thumbs up)**


	11. Break Taking

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _None needed…._

* * *

" **Break Taking"**

Cybertronian electromagnetic pulses were an open book for social signals in many respects. It was viewed as rude and overbearing to use it too much. If you did, you were either extremely upset and wanted to be left alone, a Predacon, or in this case, Deadlock.

The gunmech stalked out of the groundbridge and into the scorched room on the otherside. Smoke still curled from the crater where the grenade had landed on the floor sending thick ash to coat the walls. In the middle of it Overhaul stood, armed only with a detailing brush and a horribly dismayed look.

Deadlock managed a non-murderous smile, if only just. "Got your work cut out for you this cycle. What'd you do?"

The tawny mech groaned, "I was late for training and Ironhide's in a bad mood."

"Tough. Where's Sounder?"

"Getting yelled at by Megatronus. What was even _in_ that canister?"

"Don't know, don't care. Next thing I see with a visor, I'm shooting."

Deadlock managed his way through dimmed halls and security locks until he made it to the symbiont's private wing, finally booking it to their breakroom. Even though it was empty, Gasket still scanned the room and trotted over to his spot in the corner. After making a few circles he curled up and began pawing at one audio.

"Gasket…stop."

The half-wolf growled throatily in response, yet his audios were folded in submission. Deadlock cringed, he must have been in a lot of pain. On his way to help him out, Deadlock tripped over Gidget lying sprawled in the walk way. The gun mech didn't miss a beat, he pulled her over to the other canid. "That's no place to sit."

Gidget began to make that fearful, high-pitched whine again and he rubbed her helm. "It's not bleeding, let me see."

A brief checkup found the internal workings of their audios were still intact. Thankfully that visored youngling had caused minimal damage. They need rest and in a few cycles, they'd be good to go. He leaned against the wall, allowing Gidget to pillow her helm in his lap. Gasket quickly took up the left-over space on his legs.

He was aware he babied his pets. They worked hard, they deserved it.

Deadlock lost himself to thought. He could go help Overhaul—but he wasn't exactly the best person to come to about cleanliness.

Overhaul was an okay 'former. He grew up starving as well and was not a mech you stole energon from. 'Hide had taken him in shortly after they joined. The warrior looked after the ex-empty—then made his life pit. Nice to him in private, but he went into drill instructor mode anywhere else. It was the same story with 'Mia. Maybe that was what finally drew them together.

'Hide and 'Mia were a bonded pair, confirmed by anyone ill-fated enough to walk in on them. There were rumors they adopted the young empty…but that was made doubtful from their treatment of him.

Deadlock grinned to himself. That was the whole point of it, so the mech wouldn't get tormented since he was still part of the rank-and-file.

On the other hand, he had an advantage. As the spymaster's responsibility and unofficial grunt, he worked under him. Thereby, he became inner circle along with Megatronus, Starscream, Orion, that always absent creep Shockwave, Blackout, Ironhide, Chromia, Soundwave, and the three symbionts. He guessed he ranked along with the Tetrahexian Seeker's trine brothers; the 'I'm-close-to-someone-important-so- you-can't-push-me-around' Club. On top of that, knew the truth behind nearly everyone.

In between Soundwave's eavesdropping and 'formers being lax when they talked around him—believing he was too crazed to retain anything—Deadlock soaked in the information. Not that he did anything with it, besides complaining to his pets about it; he just liked gossip.

He knew Megatronus and Orion were half-siblings through their philandering sire, Leviathan. Megatronus had won Starscream and his trine in a card game. Chromia was on the run from some 'terrible act' she'd committed on her home planet. Shockwave had designed and released the Vesania Plague for his own purposes, but in lieu of the Decepticon's uprising, was tailoring it to fit a future need. Ironhide kept rust sticks stashed away in several ammo kits and Orion routinely stole them.

None of those were the best one, though. Not by a longshot.

His favorite secret was Blackout's.

The chopper had gone out and found himself a sparkmate.

The thing was, helicopters were a comparatively rare build of Transformer and their ways weren't widely known. Since he was a MTO that meant Blackout hadn't either, but some of the chopper community from his home state had taken pity on him. Being just as social as himself, the chopper let him in on what he learned.

Apparently, choppers normally made attachments to each other at a young age and normally found a mate from their past, build notwithstanding. Again, being an MTO ruined this. He was a sparked an adult so he'd never had that chance. That's what made it all the more exciting when he ran into Lightfire. Blackout had been so excited when he came back, eager to talk with someone who wouldn't shoot his hopes down.

He listened because Blackout wasn't Soundwave. He treated him like a friend instead of a coworker drone. So, he'd indulged him and then continued to after Soundwave stopped caring.

Unfortunately, the lonely chopper had moved faster in his love life than in his alt.

Apparently, the chopper method of courting worked. It seemed more like _stalking_ than courting, and he would know. It sounded like some elaborate game of flirting and breaking and entering that left both of his personalities with a helmache. Blackout admitted if she really didn't want him around he would have let her be. Something about it had worked; he'd grown on her. That was as much as he knew, though. Last time he had tried to pry about their more personal affairs Blackout had used him as target practice.

But then, Blackout brought Goldbug to base and Soundwave flipped his slag.

He was right to.

Megatronus ran a tight ship. Previous relationships had a pass, namely Ironhide and Chromia. They were an item long before they'd had a military structure and the warrior had made threats against the ex-miner if he ever thought about splitting them up.

It was done to cut down on unnecessary distraction. In Megatronus' opinion, mate bonds made one weak, even more so if one of the pair died. These were dangerous times. All optics needed to be on the movement.

If their leader found out about Blackout's indiscretion things wouldn't go well for him, even if he was favored. More than likely he would be made an example of. That was bad news for everyone involved. The chopper unwittingly put Soundwave in a position of betraying a friend or obeying the mech they'd chosen to serve.

The spymaster picked the less of two evils.

He agreed to keep Lightfire and Goldbug a secret and with them in the communication wing. No one came in here anyway. Once more Praxians came in Lightfire could easily be brushed off as another recruit and Goldbug… Well, they'd come up with some explanation.

Like good circuit brothers, or whatever you called partnered MTO's, they made up—and Soundwave took his frustration out on _him_.

On that cycle, Deadlock had never been so grateful Blackout had taught him how to use a blade.

A set of stasis-cuffs, two angry pets, a destroyed storage closet, a syringe of hi-grade, and talking down from Ravage later, Soundwave calmed down. The gunmech, having seen and participated in his fair share of fights, was not convinced. Soundwave would stay in the maintenance closet. From the other side, the spy mech had explained if he contributed to the problem, he would help fix it. He'd had been quick to bring up the fact that had he paid more attention to Blackout this would have never happened. Soundwave had then demonstrated he could still reach outside, via the vents, and just how uncomfortable a datacable could be when it was up one's olfactory sensor.

That was how he was recruited as an unwilling sparkling sitter.

After that, he hadn't been looking forward to their new crew members.

For a few orns she was on leave from her job and stayed close Blackout's quarters, rarely leaving. Lightfire was striving to keep the appearance everything was normal back home. No one knew she was a carrier. Because then there would be questions and questions were trouble. Extra trouble was also something he had no need of. When he did see Lightfire he pretended to ignore her.

Not that she got the message.

In the chopper's stories, he'd gained the reputation of a sweetheart and she believed it, striking up friendly conversation at every opportunity. If she had any clue what he actually did for a living she didn't let on.

Lightfire slowly became one of the few 'formers he liked as a person. She didn't treat him as if he were contagious or ready to snap at any moment. It was largely because she thought he was a grunt, but he took what he could get. Lights was like Gasket-the-mech: nice, well-mannered, didn't swear—it was a miracle Blackout had radicalized her. The Praxian was good people.

Then the cycle came when she had to go back to work and Deadlock remembered his new job. He didn't take it right off. Often enough, the cycle went like this. When Lightfire wasn't in Praxus via one of Soundwave's portals, he was with Blackout or Scorponok. If he wasn't with them, one of 'Waves symbiotes had him. Only if everyone was too exhausted would Goldbug be left with him.

Of course, 'Wave was cold, but not a sparkless idiot. He kept an optic on him the first-time sparkling sitting. It wasn't hard…physically. Goldbug was a dark, kitschy yellow, fragile, and stayed silent, barring when he got hungry. Soundwave took care of that with a medicine dropper so he hadn't had to touch him. The thing was, he'd never seen a sparkling alive before. Back in the Dead End they were all…well…dead. And it didn't seem right someone as ruthless as him oversaw new life.

Scorponok noted this and respected it—by placing Goldbug on his leg.

Soundwave found the scorpion complacent and him terrified to the point of glitching.

After that, Goldbug formed an attachment to him…literally. The little booger started magnetizing himself to his arm, a feature that wore off as soon as a 'former hit ten vorns. He didn't mind. As much as he hated to admit it, the kid wasn't bad. He enjoyed being around Goldbug.

Gidget seemed to think he was some sort of kit in need of constant care and treated him as such. She even went as far to try and guard the sparkling _against_ Scorponok. The symbiote and the fox eventually came to an understanding.

Everyone's tune changed when the "terrible two's" came and never left. The kid became a fritzing ball of yellow energy and got into **everything.** He was the only living creature that could tire out Gidget and force Gasket to hide. From riding the symbiotes, clinging to anything, babbling nonstop, and climbing into any small space, there wasn't much Goldbug wouldn't do.

On one fateful cycle, that had been the case. He'd been cleaning his guns and the sparkling decided he wanted to 'help', leaving him covered in ash. Only thing was some of it wouldn't come off. Scorponok was righteously furious when she found where he'd gotten it from.

As it turned out, he'd just gained new coloring… Neither of his parents had black detailing though. Lights was orange, Blackout was bluish, and Deadlock didn't question it, instead tacking it up to amalgamated MTO CNA.

The kid would have a tough time when he was older, though. Hybrids had it rough. He'd be scorned by fliers and ignored by vehicle modes simply because they though a 'former couldn't function normally with two lines of coding.

Better they think that than know the truth of what his sire was...

In the present, Deadlock stroked Gasket, then Gidget, both having drifted into recharge.

He sat back on his peds, content. He liked their little misfit group. They were plotting upheaval, but in the meantime, this felt like a glimpse into the home he'd longed for.

Suddenly, a sparkling's play thing smacked his shin, jolting him out of his thoughts right before Goldbug collided next to the impact spot.

"'Lock!"

"Hello, Bug."

"It's your turn to watch him." Ravage hissed, slinking out of a low vent to a spot beside Gidget.

Goldbug scrambled up his frame nimbly to sit on his helm. "Can we go for a ride?"

"Not this cycle. I'm tired, Bug. Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

"Lies!" the black cat spat.

"Nu-uh!"

The door opened again and the dusky orange Praxian entered, doorwings swinging downward in relief. "There you are. Goldbug, down here now and get lunch, you're taking a nap."

"Nooooo!"

"Sorry."

Deadlock leaned down so he'd be easier to reach. "I don't mind it. You're still here?"

She sat heavily in one chair, wrestling Goldbug toward a cube of energon.

"Never answer an early morning comm… I have to go to Praxus for a while, someone in my clan is sick."

Bumblebee stopped struggling long enough to speak. "Can I go?"

"You have to stay here, love."

"Please?"

"She said no." the gunmech deadpanned.

Goldbug's shutter optics narrowed and he threw another toy at the mech, that earned him a swat from his carrier.

"What do you say?"

The sparkling chose that moment to finally drain his cube.

"Sorry."

Deadlock mock growled, sending the yellow nightmare into a fit of giggles. He was used to it. The mechling seemed to enjoy throwing things for no other reason than to watch his optics change colors.

"Hope you didn't want that, because it's mine now."

Per norm, Goldbug lost interest and moved on to something else. "What happened to the other Praxian? The one you were gonna bring with you?"

There was an offhand shrug, "He and his friends ran off."

Goldbug's tiny doorwings drooped, sparkbroken tone asking, "Why?"

"Had to go home, I guess," the gunmech suggested. "They're a bad influence anyway. Nasty little twerps."

The sparkling slid from his carrier's lap without another word and went off by himself.

"He shouldn't have to hang out around old people all the time." Deadlock sighed.

"Since you're so horrible at kidnapping, we're out of options." Ravage added quietly.

"I'd like to see you try, cat. They're running scared because of your host."

Lightfire frowned, "Are they going to be okay out there?"

He nodded with confidence and a mistruth. "Don't know what they were into before, but they held their own against a gang of thugs until I got to them and managed to shake Gasket, Gidget, 'Wave, and me. I think they'll be fine."

"If you thi—" Lightfire's wings shot up in sudden alarm and she hissed, "Bug…"

The sparkling had scuttled back to Deadlock to find something else entertaining, winding up in exactly wrong place. "Gas-ket!" the five-vorn old sang, dropping in front of sleeping mechanimal.

"Leave him be, runt, he'll bite off your servo." Ravage warned, edging his way closer in the event he needed to be snatched away.

Goldbug made a face and continued to bother the old hound.

The gunmech let off a soft warning EMP. The canids couldn't hear right now. If 'Bug surprised him things could get messy. While Deadlock trusted his pets on the hunt, he was less confident when they were around petro-rabbit sized sparklings. Gasket was eight times Goldbug's height, easily annoyed, and was more than capable of crushing his tiny helm in with an accidental swipe. Now, Lightfire was moving in to pull him back when Gasket swept out a paw to unbalance and drew him to rest underneath his helm.

"Accckkkkkk!"

The tension that had built up quickly fizzled when they realized he was using the sparkling as a cuddle toy.

Ravage circled the pair, plopping before them to tuck paws beneath his body. "Does he do this often?"

"Never. He likes him."

"Let me loose! 'Cari help!"

She knelt to stroke his helm, "Take a nap, Goldbug."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

A joor later an unmistakable harmonic voice broke the peace.

"You're back."

Everyone in the break room, sans Ravage, flinched in surprise. Deadlock snorted. Even with his frame refit to be bulkier and combat ready the grey mech still managed to be silent.

"'Wave, would it kill you to put out a broader EM? Say hello? Anything?"

"You were supposed to report."

It was like holding a conversation with a conceited AI program.

"I was. Then I figured 'He's probably busy explaining how a grenade detonated in the base'." He turned around, fixing him with a nasty glare. "Megatronus done tearing you a new one?"

He could almost see the steam rising from his helm.

No sane person tangled with Soundwave.

Fortunately, he was not among them.

"Those kids you insisted on me rounding up nearly scrapped my pet's audio sensors. They need at least a three cycle recovery period."

"You can recuperate in the field."

"Nah, I was thinking I'd stay right here since the whole thing is your fault anyway."

The cables that writhed free from the spymaster's back in preparation for a fight reminded Deadlock of multi-legged aquatic organics. Whoever came up with the idea to give him those was smart and demented. Deadlock made a noise of disgust that covered up his shuddering armor and settled an obvious servo on one of his concealed blasters.

Lightfire, ever the mediator, cleared her vocalizer quietly. "Soundwave…maybe…maybe you could cut him a break? At least for right now? I mean he just got back and you're stressed."

The spymaster turned, "When I want your input I'll ask for it, glitch. Don't hold your ventilations waiting."

From the far corner, the roused Gidget snarled, placing herself between Soundwave and the Praxian. Gasket moved one paw in front of the recharging sparkling, blocking him from view. They weren't alone in their opinion of the spymaster.

Deadlock allowed a trickle of his nasty side to creep out, faceplates twisting. "There, there girl, he didn't mean any harm. After all, we're all on the same side. Right?"

His visor flickered, "You'll leave within the joor, or else."

Ravage began to follow his host, only to be stopped just before the door closed.

"You, cat."

"Yes?"

"What you hear, Soundwave hears, right?"

Ravage nodded.

"Siddown then," the gunmech prompted.

Deadlock's frame relaxed when he turned back to Lightfire. "He feeds on fear and the sparks of small mechanimals, you know. Don't encourage him."

When that comment was met with a blank faceplate, he groaned.

"Joke. It's a joke."

Lightfire's tucked wings didn't rise. "You didn't have to do that. It's my fault for coming between them—"

"You're Blackout's mate. They might have been designed together, but Soundwave has second rank to you now, at the least he should respect you. Remember that. Gidget." He broke off into growls and chirps. "Well, I'm off."

Gasket followed but the fox stayed behind, easily sweeping Goldbug next to her side.

"Don't you need them both?"

"Nah, let her get some R-and-R. 'Sides a turbofox in Iacon? Poor thing is likely to get shot by a Towers mech."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thankyou."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Deadlock made his way to the scorched bridge room three joors late, resources replenished and ready to go. If you were going on a mission that wasn't supposed to be widely broadcast you got the "Wave Method" of transportation. He took the long way around the actual groundbridge and stood in front of the spymaster.

"Ah, knew it was something I was supposed to be doing…"

Done with petty arguments, Soundwave replied shortly, "You're late."

"I wasn't going to come, but then again, why bug Megs more than we need to? Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we're all equal, right?"

"Correct."

"Let's do it then."

He turned with one servo outstretched and a portal spawned some units away.

Gasket disappeared through the bridge in a flash while his master lingered. "Oh, and 'Wave? I get Blackout doesn't know what you say to Lights when he's gone. I get she's too scared to do anything, but if she's hurt when I get back, just remember: I do crazy way better than you."

If he was upset, he no longer showed it. The mech probably had piles of blackmail against him; he didn't need to.

"Noted. This time, I hope you complete your mission."

"Yup. My original _assigned_ mission."

He smirked as the mech's visor darkened faintly.

"Don't worry about it, next time you see me Nova Magnus will be offline."

* * *

 **Next up: shenanigans.**


	12. Bust

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _Assault and Death_

" **Bust"**

* * *

Nothing quite said, "Good solar joor" like a broom to the helm.

Jazz's was still smarting from the angry flat owner attacking them with the words: "I'm sick of you tourists camping out here! Go get a rental flat!"

The homeowner had a point. The last time he'd slept in an actual berth they'd been in The Center. Since then, they'd been recharging wherever and however. Going through The Depths, there were caverns and hollows to take shelter in. It was going to be trickier in an urban area…

Still, there had to better places to wake up, but substandard was going to have to do. Even now it bothered him the 'Cons had noticed them…and probably knew where they lived.

Good thing they were homeless, then.

They'd found a park and the other two were at a table, pouring over a map. The goal was to plot a way to go from here that wouldn't end with them dead or reunited with the Decepticons. He'd pointed out the city-states they should stay out of and perched on top the play area's jungle gym.

Here in Miz, school was out and sparklings swarmed the area, broken by younglings huddled off in their cliques. They would have no problem blending in here. It was easy, just pretend to be a naïve youngling enjoying the holiday. Long practiced habits wouldn't be easily buried, though. From up here he had a vantage on anyone approaching.

There was a mech shaking down his peers for credits. Some couple making out behind the crystals. Another Praxian at Prowl and Lockdown's table… The red and brown mechling was bugging him about something. From the tilt of his wings Prowl wasn't having it. It was kind of uncanny. They looked a lot alike, minus the color and the enforcer caste youngling looking irritated beyond words. _Everyone_ had a doppelganger. Including himself.

He had a twin back in Polyhex, designation: Stepper.

They shared the same frame, same optics, same horns, and his earliest memories were of being treated as a set. He'd hated it.

The deciding factor had been when they were young. His sire had taken he and Stepper to a park like this once. One far away from their neighborhood. They'd been maybe around three vorns and nowhere close to being as oblivious as they should have been about today's assignment. Their sire had them sit and gently asked them to pick out the weakest sparklings, those that left themselves open to attack.

Stepp caught on quickly. As for himself…he'd gotten bored and wanted to play.

That one instance set the tone for the vorns ahead. Stepp got training at an early age and he got left behind.

Stepp had a stronger dedication for their clan's cover of Enforcer work that survived the recent uprisings and turmoil. Meanwhile, Jazz wanted to experience life. Thankfully, their clan was flexible and used his skill accordingly. He became a jack of all trades; the life of the party no one would suspect, the face in the crowd, and his, widely feared persona, the remorseless assassin. They were always on top of matters, taking care of assignments. The last one routinely took him away from home and Stepp.

Somewhere along the way, the absence crept into their relationship. Most twins were inseparable. They were the complete opposite. Orns would go by before they talked and their bond was used infrequently. Eventually things between them became more like acquaintances than brothers. They didn't hate each other…they just had their own circle of friends and lives.

Nonetheless he wished he were here right now; Stepp always knew how to handle stuff like this… No target had ever caused him so much trouble. Scrap, he'd never given any other target the chance to say more than a few words before offing them. Having hung out with Prowl so much, it made him feel sick. That had never happened before…but a deal was a deal.

It was the midway point, meaning now it was time to plan how Prowl was going to spend his last cycle. He couldn't fully understand what to do back then, but he did now.

Abruptly, an empty energon cube soared through the air and smacked his sore audio horn.

"OW! Lockdown!"

"You're a lousy watchhound. Get down here, Jazz!"

He dropped from the complex and dragged over to his friends, dragging himself on to the table. Prowl's wings lowered in disapproval but let it slide.

"About time you woke up…" the other youngling growled, "Where do you go when you blank out?"

Jazz grinned before he leered, "Your cousin's picture."

Another cube rebounded off his helm and Jazz finally noticed the empty containers littering the table. Someone had been on an energon binge.

"You got an extra tank in there somewhere?"

"Yeah and it's empty."

So that was why he barely used that cloaking ability. Jazz swung his peds, "Let's do something fun today."

"Like what?" Prowl folded away their map.

He slipped into a more upbeat mode. "There's a street festival."

Lockdown kicked back another cube, "Boring."

Jazz rolled optics behind his visor, as usual he wasn't helping unless it directly benefited himself.

"What's it for?" the clueless target chirped.

"Dunno, but we're gonna have fun today."

"Might as well pick up supplies." Prowl relented.

"Yah in, Lock?"

"Whatever." The green and black mech rubbed one optic.

 _:: It's today then? ::_

 _:: Yup. ::_

 _:: Carpe diem. ::_

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Miz wasn't Polyhex by any stretch, but it was passable. Alt mode traffic was shut down on certain streets, stringed lights decorated the walkways, booths lined the streets, and Prowl was going over history.

Just because they hadn't been to school in orns didn't mean they couldn't learn.

Prowl knew a lot and he didn't hesitate in letting on, but when he really liked something, like any other 'former, life flooded his optics and he prattled on as if there were no tomorrow.

What he gushed about wasn't uncommon knowledge.

The "Festival of Light" had many names, but the story behind it was the same. Cybertron's atmosphere was once deadly, most life was found underground and that included Cybertronians. The only light to be found came from energon, different crystals, liquid energon deposits (courtesy of the worm-like Drillers), and 'former's biolights. Features like bioluminescence and EMP's were necessary for survival. Light was often synonymous with life and The Festival of Lights was a reminder of how far they'd come.

Jazz looked back up at the skies and couldn't help but wonder if they were sliding back into dark…

The lesson was cut short when Lockdown thwapped the back of Prowl's helm.

"If wanted to know all that I would have stolen an encyclopedia."

"Too bad, then." The Praxian disappeared into a permanent building. As it turned out the shop sold everything, including data-pads.

Lockdown's shoulder rattled a shelf as he purposely bumped it, "What are you looking for?"

"Educational pads. We're going to need to catch up on school, right?"

He made a drawn-out groan of exasperation, "You are not blowing thirty credits on that junk."

Prowl powered it on, "A tram leaves Helex in the middle of the cycle, what time does it make it to Kaon?"

"Late. The tracks down there are terrible. And Kaon? Why there? Kaon was practically Decepticon run before they made it official."

"Be serious."

"'M being practical," he stated. "Get the basics. All that extra slag won't matter, put it back, get a basic shuttle operation manual and I'll get the tool kit. And your answer is five joors before dawn the next cycle, _if_ the weather is good."

Jazz watched him go and plopped his helm on Prowl's shoulder, "Lock's smart."

He was peeled off a nano later than what he estimated he would.

"Stop sneaking up on me."

"No." he thumbed through mystery pad, "He was top of his class. Then he just dropped out."

"What happened?"

He bit his derma. "What always does. Pit. Tsui was real sick… and their shop was already doing rough."

"You want to shut up?" Lockdown growled.

"Let it go, mech, these things happen—"

" _ **Drop IT.**_ "

He'd stepped back in the interest of self-preservation. The steel in his tone was unmistakable and for the first time since he broken up he and Prowl's fight, the assassin felt a cold dread of Lockdown. Another reminder there was reason he was sent to The Center. Another reminder he wasn't the only dangerous one. Another reminder this wasn't a pleasure trip.

Jazz cleared his vents, ignoring the fact he'd run smack into Prowl trying to escape.

"You really going to need all those?"

"I thought you read too? I need something to shut you up."

He acted placid, as if nothing had happened, still sorting through the shelves. "You seem like the type that likes adventure novella."

Prowl continued and the guilty feeling spread like a virus. The thought of having to run a blade through that neck clouded his processor and he blanked for what only seemed like a nano.

"Hey, were you even listening?"

"No…I mean, yeah."

The Praxian's wings folded behind his back, optics narrowed in disapproval.

"Come here."

"What? No way."

Being close in height, Prowl easily snatched him by an audio horn.

"OOOWWWW!"

"Why are you so loud?"

"That's sensitive!"

Jazz pushed him forward into the shelves, knocking several pads free earning the shop owner's dirty look. The Polyhexian was worried by this change in behavior, Prowl didn't tend to get physical unless someone was about to be hurt. He attempted to pull away but his helm was stuck fast beneath his arm. Prowl held him steady and magnetized something to one of his audio horns.

"Ey! What is this?"

"Normally it's used on Praxian sparklings when they're having trouble calibrating their wings. It ought to work perfectly for you."

Jazz pulled at the feathery charm stuck to the side of his helm. It seemed solid but every movement aggravated the tiny filaments that made it up. That little shred of metal threw so much feedback it was like having a bell welded to his audio.

"And the point of this is?"

"If you're trying to isolate the sensations you have to focus all attention on it. In the long run it will help with your concentration."

"This is actually kinda cool."

"And it is an infraction to use it against is intended use. Don't make a style of it."

Lockdown cackled from the next row over.

"What?"

A white helm poked over a low aisle, "He just called you a sparkling, slow."

Jazz made a rude gesture without breaking conversation. "You just carry these around?"

"No. That's my old one."

"Don't ah feel special now..."

"You shouldn't. We need to be on all cylinders. Last thing we need is you spacing out. Again."

Jazz kicked him and wound up in a one-armed helm lock, once again, this time from the elder of the group. "Finally, something to keep him awake."

An advertisement caught his optic and he grinned, "Okay, y'all think you're so tough? Bet yah won't get a piercing."

"Game on. Been trying to finish this look out."

Prowl frowned, "They still do that? Kinda archaic don't you think? I mean it's no worse than what you look like already."

"All about appearance. Notice no one messes with us."

"Except Deadlock…and that semi-hauler femme and the turbofoxes…"

Prowl got elbowed for that comment.

"It'll be fun, doesn't hurt much." Jazz stuck his glossa out revealing an onyx orb stabbed through it.

The Praxian cringed, "Do they have a diagnosis for what is wrong with you?"

"Nah, not yet, ah checked. Come on, it'll be fun."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

The tricolored youngling led them to a bland looking door and pushed his way in, a soft door chime signaling their arrival. Beyond the door, though a wave of color assaulted them. The walls were choked with band posters and the air with sickly sweet incense. An inky black Seeker femme's wings perked up, the panels scrawled with symbols like the rest of her frame. "Welcome to Mercuries. What can we do you for?"

"Jus' some piercings and detailing."

She nodded, "Follow me, then. Diode! Customers!"

Contrary to his sister, the mech was awash with color and a weary droop in his wings. Green lit optics brightened as he pulled himself from sketching something.

"You have your parentage's or guardian's permission?"

Lockdown raised an optic ridge, "What are those?"

Far too familiar with this routine, Diode continued, "We're not responsible for any trouble you may get into for this. If they ask, you didn't come here. So, which one of you wants the colors?"

Jazz pushed Prowl forward.

"I'm not doing that."

"It's not like a piercing. Try it on your wings, it won't hurt."

"No way!"

"Fine. At least get some designs on 'em then."

"Why—"

 _:: So, no one gets suspicious. It'll just look like you picked the cop paintjob for fun. ::_

The Praxian relaxed marginally. "What styles do you have?"

"Catalogues are over there, bud." The femme called, herding Lockdown to the other side of the small shop.

"So, you're a member of the Tiagu clan?" Diode asked, the question aimed at the flame printed mech across the room. Considering he was about to have pins inserted in his face, his mind was on anything but heritage. "The what?"

"Taigu—they put those markings on their faceplates."

"I tried to tell him it looks weird." Prowl added, settling himself tank first on one of the platforms.

"You seriously didn't know what that meant?" The mech Seeker seethed.

Lockdown couldn't sit up, so the ceiling got his heated glare, "It looked interesting."

His sibling was less pretentious, "Pardon my brother, he wasn't allowed to change castes and he's been taking out on customers ever since."

As usual, Scribe was ignored.

"It's supposed to be a symbol of status, a coming of age thing. You're wearing it because it looks cool."

Lockdown's reply was cut by a sharp wince as the femme Seeker prepped him, "Yeah. So?"

Diode's faceplate struck the likeness of a grouchy toad. "Go, get the pins in, don't bother to look up what it means… I'm sure those who know will be delighted to tell you."

"What's the matter with it? I like mine." Jazz chirped proudly showing it off.

The Seeker slapped a servo across his faceplate, muttering something in Vosian. "And let me guess, you wanted to look like an Enforcer for the status. That's like coating yourself in fake energon; you look like a murderer."

Prowl stiffed under the mech's rough grip.

"You're the second one this cycle. This better not be turning into a trend."

"Diode, CAN IT. He wants the paint job, leave him alone about it!" Scribe hissed, raised wings leaving no room for argument. She grumbled, "Sparked without the coding for positive thinking or tact."

"That makes two of them." Lockdown added.

The mech Seeker was now painfully aware he'd have to make amends after their customers left and made a poor attempt at conversation.

"Some professional grade paints you got… Looks like the real deal…"

"Thanks." Prowl forced. He pretended the slab beneath him was interesting.

"What do you want on your wings?"

"Ancient Cybertronian. _Mollitiam_ on left wing. _Servire et tueri_ on right."

"Resilience; to serve and protect… interesting choice. Going in full-tilt, huh?"

"Hnn."

"He's not a big talker."

Diode jumped at the sudden appearance of the third one next to him.

"I'll catch you guys later."

"Where are you going?"

"I forgot something. Let's meet by the gardens, okay?"

Prowl settled back. At least he was back to acting normally—however lose a definition that was for the mechling. He shifted his left wing, a flash attracting the attention of both Diode and himself. The Seeker laid his sander down, "Huh. You have that on before?"

Prowl rotated his wing out far enough to catch sight of the flat, crystal shaped stud stabbed through the tip of one wing. And he hadn't felt a thing.

"Slaggitt, Jazz…."

"Want me to pull it out?"

He watched the subtle dark glint coming from the tip of his doorwing. "No, leave it. We're even."

The Praxian settled back down, unaware of the poison steadily ebbing into his lines.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Sometime later, Jazz entertained himself by making notches in the nearby crystals with his shank. They weren't anywhere near the height of the Praxus Gardens' but the multicolored crystals still loomed units over head. Some were even said to extend from Cybertron's core itself. Was it just his imagination or did they look dimmer than when he'd seen them last?

He shrugged and blew the shard dust of his carving. Lockdown would have a fit if he saw…but he wasn't here right now.

His target was though, as he'd asked, freshly painted wings raised moderately in expectation. They weren't as high as they could have been, though. The toxin was doing its job.

"I'll have you know this stud itches."

He pushed off the spire as the other youngling approached. "Aw, it was a gift."

"Did it have to be black? It looks like death."

The Polyhexian's smile didn't reach his hidden optics, "Bad color choice, I guess."

"Okay, so I'm here. What'd you call me for?"

Jazz surged forward in one fluid motion, stabbing his arm between two plates.

" **Whoa!** "He spun back, "What was that for?" He retreated back like viper back to its coil without a word, keeping a close watch on the other mechling's frame. The second part to the toxin was swift.

The Praxian soon found himself faceplate down on the pavement. "Whatssss….going on?!"

"Sorry…but I have a job…and its offlining you. Nothing personal."

"Why?! We're friends—"

By now Jazz had made it over to his side and dropped to a crouch, "Nah. That's where yah wrong. You, are a target, I'm your assassin."

He might have had a defiant look but it was hard to tell, the tension of life was leaving him. His thrashing was quickly becoming sluggish, as the drug took over his frame. Skilled digits found a cluster of relays at the base of his neck and squeezed, magnetized digits wreaking havoc on the junction.

"I'll make this easy on you, because you're not so bad. I'll knock you out. You won't feel a thing."

"I don't wanna die."

The Polyhexian caught the precise moment when optics' light cut out and he released the elder youngling with a sigh. "Nobody does, pal."

In a matter of kliks it was over. He succumbed to the poison and lay still and gray in the alley.

Jazz rose and snapped a picture, sending it to his least favorite client.

 _:: You're_ quick _. ::_

He was beginning to see where Prowl had gotten his sarcasm from.

 _:: My apologies, sir. ::_

 _:: I suggest your discretion in this, Meister. ::_

 _:: Of course. ::_

 _:: Your payment is in order. ::_

 _:: Pleasure doing business with you. ::_

Jazz ran a servo down his faceplate and groaned out a vent. Well, this job was going to glitch his nightmares for vorns… It would be just a little bit longer though, he was almost done. Time to make this look like an overdose.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

On the other side of the gardens, Lockdown prodded Prowl's unconscious frame with a ped. Even drugged the guy managed to find a way to recharge on his face. "Weirdo."

He rubbed at the dual rods running through one optic ridge, then the barbell in his derma. Not long after they'd left the shop Prowl complained he hadn't been feeling all that great. He took him to an isolated spot next to a mercury lake, the Praxian then dropped into stasis and he'd been like that for joors.

Lockdown kicked a crushed can into the lake, where it landed with an unsatisfying splat. Jazz had better get back here soon, he wasn't watching a corpse…

Not too long after that, the missing assassin crept up, headlights off in the dark of lunar joor.

"Where have you been?!"

"Out. He still online?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"You've got some slag poisons—" Lockdown paused, "Wait…you did this on purpose?"

Jazz remained silent, checking the other mechling over.

"ARE. YOU. SERIOUS."

"Shuddup ah got it covered."

"You still can't do it. You pick now of all times to choke?! Jazz, his sire will _kill us_!"

" _If_ he ever finds out. I fixed it. That guy in the park was a dead ringer, he wound up getting the same paint job. You couldn't ask for a better op. That serum deadened Prowl's spark to near offlining. They weren't close to begin with, so it'll seem like he died. He's worth more to us alive than dead."

"Us? Or just you?"

"Leave me alone."

Lockdown tensed ever so slightly, "You know what? You don't have to do it then."

It was there Jazz made his first mistake: turning his back on an angry mech. The first blow left him stunned on his back, unable to block. He was dragged back up by his collar. The second blow smashed into his tank and continued as it landed five more times. The last ended with a violent twist that shredded his armor. Lockdown suddenly let him drop and the mechling crashed to all fours, dry heaving.

"When his goons come, I'll make sure it's just you they get then."

From his doubled vison, Jazz couldn't exactly pinpoint which of the four Lockdowns was the real one. He settled for glaring at the centermost one. "Yah aft. Bettah sleep with one optic open tonight."

Lockdown watched the energon dripping from his midsection and pushed the younger over with a blunt kick.

"That's if you can even get up," he snorted, "Pathetic."

* * *

 **Ancient Cybertronian= Latin. Because it's already used in TF, it's a beautiful language, and Latin makes everything sound smarter.**

~o~o~o~o~o~

 **Want to hear a story?**

 **Fun fact about Jazz and Lockdown's piercings; they take LOOSE inspiration from real life. There were two guys in most of my classes that had piercings. Let's call them Zedd and Michigan.**

 **Zedd had several tattoos and facial jewelry and looked intimidating. He turned out to be extremely shy and, like Michigan, very nice. I had no idea the latter had one until we were prepping to go to a professional function. (Yannow, cover your tats, no visible piercings, no hoop earrings, girls only wear stud earrings) So our teacher is laying down the guidelines and Michigan butts in, "What about tongue piercings?"**

 **She goes, "You have one?"**

 **He sticks his tongue out and, I kid you not, he had a black ball near the size of a shooter marble in his mouth.**

" **You can talk with that thing?!"**

 **The entire room then devoted five minutes to asking him about it and I filed it under "Stuff To Use in Writing".**


	13. Buzz

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 _ **Warnings:**_ _Part of a double post, read #12 first._

* * *

" **Buzz"**

He should have remembered.

The first time they met, Lockdown injured him. And the pattern had repeated infrequently all the way up to now. Sure, he had the speed to get out of the way, but he'd put off upgrading his civilian armor and Lockdown hadn't. Lockdown was older and stronger and had brass knuckles outfitted in his servos.

Fortunately, the same mechling was deep in recharge beneath a bench, Prowl was stuffed beneath the opposite one, and the area was empty. No one had to see him like this.

Jazz pulled himself backwards to prop up against a small stand of crystals with a wince. A crater-like indent marred the center of his tanks and bent his splintered plating back into his protoform. "This is gonna be fun…"

A short dig through his subspace yielded a half cube of hi-grade and he dumped it on his wound before pulling the first of many shards out.

Funny. Torture didn't hurt, neither did getting shot, shooting, training, or mithridatism…but Lockdown's punches did.

 **~ What are you doin'? ~**

Jazz's cyan-stained digits slipped, sending rivulets down his midsection.

 **~ Slaggit, Stepp! What?! ~**

Having his twin talking through bond was like having a conversation with the little voice in one's helm…if that voice had better ideas, was more obnoxious, and had gargled with rocks.

 **~ I get word you're stuck in The Center playing pet assassin an the best you can do is yell at meh? ~**

 **~ Kinda busy… ~**

 **~ Must hurt, I can feel it all tha way in Polyhex. ~**

So that was why he'd reached out… Stepp got worried…and he'd forgotten to keep the bond tamped down. At least that's what Jazz told himself. He wasn't about to admit he was lonely.

 **~Sorry. ~**

 **~ It's fine, carriers bout tah have meh examined cuz ah you. Need meh to come rescue you yet? ~**

 **~ No… ~** Silence stretched on for kliks.

 **~ You okay, squirt? ~**

 **~ No. ~**

 **~ He socked you again, didn't he? ~**

 **~ Yeah… ~**

Stepper's end of the bond ignited with aggression. **~ Imma have words with that mechling when yah get tah Polyhex. ~**

 **~ Come on, Stepp. ~**

 **~ He aint cha friend, Jazz. ~**

 **~ He's just mad because I didn't take out a target yet. ~**

 **~ Cell getting too crowded? ~**

 **~ Chief let me out. ~**

 **~ WHA— ~** The sensation of surprise quickly turned to annoyance. It was something else he hadn't been told. **~What's tha catch? ~**

 **~ Kill his son. ~**

 **~ And you did? Right? ~**

Jazz laid on his back in silence, clutching his tanks. **~ Say it. Ahm stupid. ~**

 **~ Why dontcha want to kill him? ~**

 **~ Dunno. ~**

 **~ Ya do know. ~**

 **~ He talks about datapads and wild animals, he complains 'bout everything, and he gets on my last nerve…He's nice to me and his sire wants him dead for no other reason besides spite. ~** He blurted.

 **~ Oh, yah got tah know him. Ah was gonna say assassin's fatigue, but tha works too. ~**

 **~ Ah failed. ~**

 **~ No yah didn't…yah cleaned up loose ends, right? ~**

 **~ Yup. ~**

 **~ Yah allowed tah make yah own calls. If yah think he's worth more alive than dead, go for it. Nobody's gonna know who he is where you're going.**

Jazz caught a fleeting sting of abandonment over the bond.

 **~ He's not you, yannow. ~**

 **~ Pit straight. Someone else needs tah back you up, tho. Imma rip a chunk outta Lockdown if he turns on you again. ~**

 **~ Ok. ~**

 **~ So whatcha been up to? ~**

 **~Ah met Deadlock an' his old pack. ~**

 **~ No fair! ~** Now he sounded more like the old Stepper and less like an adult. Jazz baited him further.

 **~ Ah thought yah were too good for Decepticons. ~**

He got the equivalent of a shove, **~ He was an independent first. ~**

 **~Thas not what ah heard…Oh, and Soundwave even asked for us. ~**

 **~ An you ran like a little wuss. ~**

 **~ No! ~**

He could almost see that jagged smile. **~ We share the same spark frequency. Yah, yah did. ~**

 **~ Ah'd say they were after us but they got bigger plans. Something huge is going down in Praxus. ~**

 **~ Yah speak beast-mode now? ~**

 **~ Ah heard "Praxus" and "Soundwave", couldn't make out much else. Ahm not good with their translations. ~**

 **~ Ah'll pick it apart then. ~**

 **~ You take care. ~**

 **~ Ahm not tha one on a road trip with nutcases. Be careful, squirt. ~**

 **~ Always am. ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Back in Polyhex, Stepper bolted for their sire's office, red, black, and white frame a blur.

Jazz was, in his opinion, reckless and inadequate for their line of work. Their sire, Augment, always supported both their decisions—no matter how seemingly unwise. It looked like his faith had finally paid off in his eldest.

"Hey, you're not gonna like what's about to go down in Praxus—" The moment Stepper swung around the door frame his joints locked and glossa swelled when he saw the imposing frame of Cabal standing with Augment.

"Sorry, sirs."

He didn't get off so easily. Augment crooked a digit, calling him to his side. Stepper studied his peds until the prickle of a stare made him look up. Frigid blue optics seized his own, "You're incredibly fast when you're getting home, Meister."

A heavy servo mussed his audios, "No, no yah got it wrong. They're twins. This is Stepper."

The Praxian sized him up, picking him apart with his optics and sensors. "I can tell the more successful twin."

That should have filled him with pride, a sense of accomplishment. Instead, he found himself fighting back a growl. _He_ could call Jazz dumb, but not anyone else. But Cabal wasn't a mech to heckle and he was a 'family friend'.

Stepp faked a smile while his yellow visor hid blank optics, he even let some of his accent slip. "Tha'nks."

He knew all about Cabal; he was slime, scum, and was, among other things, a master instigator. He was a Decepticon for a different cause. But people would get hurt if he said nothing.

"Why don't you tell me what you've found?"

There was an encouraging bond nudge from Augment.

"Jazz ran into Deadlock."

That got him attention.

"He needed to get across The Depths. Just so happen they were in the same place, he met up with his pack and Jazz caught the conversation."

"You know their version of Predus?"

Of _course_ he did.

"Yesssir. They're planning with on infiltrating Praxus. You're the only state with zero reaction to propaganda."

"They thrive on confusion to further their goals…" icy optics met his own. "Send me the data tracks of the conversation. I'll take it from there. You were right to come forward, Stepper. Is your twin still with him?"

"No, they left. Jazz said he was busy and he just finished an ugly job. Said it gave him helm aches."

"I can only imagine." Cabal empathized.

Stepp found himself tasting bile as Jazz's feelings mingled with his own. "Glad I could help."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Back in Miz,Jazz hadn't had time to doze off when there was the sound of a helm hitting the bottom of the bench followed by a groan.

"Low clearance."

Prowl swore and struggled to get upright like a confused drunk. "Where are we?"

"Miz still. Your wing was hurting and you asked for pain stems. Yah couldn't handle it."

He frowned, "I think I'd remember a decision _that_ bad."

"Whatever."

He crept from beneath the bench, optics catching Lockdown's alt hidden under the next one and still fresh energon soaking back into the metallic soil.

"Did you and Lockdown fight?"

Jazz patted his wound. "Nah, mech, ah got this from a wild nunyah."

"Nunyah?"

"Yeah, nunyah slagging business."

"Did you clean it before patching it up at least?"

"Yes. Ahm not an idiot."

Prowl wasn't convinced and pulled the ill-fitting temporary armor back. He stilled and traced the edge of his gash, "That's deep. Brass knuckles?"

"Mhhm."

"You did a good job."

He unsubspaced a tin and dumped a small amount of the sickly pink contents onto his protoform. Prowl caught his look of interest, "It deadens your pain receptors without messing with your helm. It should help your protoform grow back too."

The question was out of him before he could stop it. "How many times have you used it before?"

"Enough to have an obscenely high tolerance for pain." He snapped his plating back flush against his tank, wiping his servos on a cloth.

The Polyhexian studied him for a long klik. "Yah do remember ah kidnapped and tortured you? You don't have to be nice."

"No. But it keeps my energon pressure lower," one wing hung low and the other perked up. "Besides, you're not terrible and injuries hurt. Get some rest, I'll keep an optic out for security."

Jazz hesitated before ducking beneath the bench. "Prowl?"

"Yes?"

At the last nano he chose against what he had in mind. "Never mind…thanks."

* * *

 **Up next: tweaks and dark revelations.**

 **Thank you for the R &R!**


	14. Beastly

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Heads up. I don't know what everyone's tolerance levels are, but you might find the following several chapters dark. Also, I finally looked up the meaning of the word "flow" in writing. Whoops. Try this structure on for size. Also, also gore._

* * *

" **Beastly"**

The first thing Lockdown ever recalled about Jazz was that stupid smirk and why someone his age was at a park alone. He was three whole vorns older and couldn't even get down the block by himself. The other sparkling hadn't seemed in such a hurry to leave, either. He'd hung around chatting up one of his younger sisters. It was then Lockdown made up in his mind that he didn't like the Polyhexian. Jazz acted cocky and so sure of himself, reining it in just enough to be likeable and that irked him. After chasing him off the first time, he had no intention of seeing him again.

As things would have it, Jazz's family did business in Obelisk, in their neighborhood, every other orn. He seemed to get the message to stay away after the pipe-to-the-face incident. Excepting Stepper's retaliation, things were good afterward… then he went to prison and Jazz was the exact mech who wound up as his permanent cellmate. There was no point in getting attached to anyone that came in after him; they never lasted long. Lockdown didn't enjoy it, but learned to ignore the grisly ritual. At least Jazz was quiet about killing.

He'd heard rumors about 'Meister' but, after finding he and Jazz were one in the same, didn't believe them. Seeing was believing. If you weren't his target, he was a regular pain in the afterplate in the name of being friendly. _He never shut up_ and his attention span fluctuated circumstantially. That didn't seem like a habit of a master assassin, that sounded more like a sparkling. Still, rooming with the noisy mechling had its perks, namely immunity. They were the bane of their sector in The Center, able to get away with almost anything with Cabal's blessing. Things only seemed to get better when Jazz got word they could go free—on the condition Prowl was taken care of. Plans had only gone downhill from there.

He'd have taken Jazz over that walking migraine any day. Prowl's conceited attitude pissed him off, he was just like Chief Cabal. He could already see the manipulator forming behind those optics. The only good that came from keeping him around was crossing borders and coming up with plans on the fly. And maybe he was decent at holding conversation… And, for some reason, he could curb Jazz's attention. Nonetheless, Miz was supposed to be it for the Praxian. Instead, Jazz had broken contract and saved him.

Lockdown had confidence it wouldn't be long until Chief found out. He could practically feel those icy optics on his back. He glanced over one shoulder and locked optics with Prowl, nearly white orbs narrowed down to slits. Yeah, he knew what he'd done to Jazz. So, he pretended not to notice for the fifth time this mega-cycle.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Traffic roared in the distance as they prowled through a quiet suburban district in Topaz, Lockdown in front, the other two flanking him like the right and left wing of a Seeker trine. Any stoicism was lost by Jazz twisting and writhing around to the low beat of his speakers, recent injuries forgotten. They were so close to the Poly/Prax border they—or rather Jazz—could feel it. That was if that myth of being tied to the place you were sparked held up.

Prowl suffered through a half-mumbled chorus and getting bumped once more. It seemed since Miz he'd been clingy. Gone was the ever aggressive mech, replaced by this ball of smoosh. He must have proven something to the youngling over the past cycles, Jazz acted as if they were close now. Prowl supposed the adage was true _:_ 'don't feed it unless you want it to follow you home'.

Conversely, Lockdown's mood had soured, particularly toward the Polyhexian. He hadn't wanted to wait for him to get up the cycle following the fight and was more than willing to leave the youngest behind. Jazz did a good job of pretending it didn't bother him. Theirs wasn't an equal friendship from the start—as far as he knew. He was just the tagalong. Oddly enough, Lockdown seemed paranoid now, constantly checking to see if they were being followed and moving them from city to city faster. After effects of narrowly being abducted maybe?

Hearing muttered singing apparently got to be too much for the flame printed mech. Lockdown finally growled, "Cut it out!" Jazz's new chip was snatched out of his arm and pitched into an abandoned lot. It soared over the fibrous fauna that spilled over the wall and landed with a clink somewhere on the other side. Jazz's face screwed up, "Yah jerk.!" Lockdown said nothing and the other youngling scaled the wall, dropping over.

Prowl had had it. "Why'd you do that?"

"Less noise," came the two-word answer.

"You know he's obsessed with music."

Again, he was silent but they both began to climb over after him. Lockdown lingered at the top, focused on the still housings around them. "It's real quiet. Haven't seen a spark since we got here. Where _is_ everybody?" Prowl snorted, "They probably heard your sorry aft was coming and left." In hindsight, the top of a fence was the worst place for that kind of quip. Lockdown politely shoved him, landing the Praxian ensnared in the fauna and hanging by a doorwing.

Nearby, Lockdown managed to land on his peds. "I'm really not in the mood, nerd."

"Ah, you're in more of a beating one then." The struggling mechling was violently hoisted up to optic level. "You don't know anything."

"He's scared to death of you."

"Ever stopped to think that's a good thing? The guy can kill at the drop of a bolt."

Prowl's wings flattened. It was happening again. Different 'formers, different dynamic, same abusive patterns. Out here, though, things could be set right and if not, he actually stood a chance of winning a physical argument. Meanwhile, Lockdown continued. "Look, you know femmes mature faster than mechs. If you believe that. Jazz is like ten, right?"

"So, you beat up a sparkling?"

Lockdown pinched his optics shut, rubbing at the bridge of his olfactory. "Prowl. I'm going to let you in on a secret: SHUT UP AND LISTEN and maybe people wouldn't want to clock you!" he snapped. "He's mentally ten so he doesn't have a stupid filter. He made a _really_ bad call in Miz and it's probably going to kill us. Now he knows not to make the same mistake twice."

"You don't treat your sisters like that."

"No. You weren't in The Center long enough."

"Why him beat up on him?"

"I already told you. He did something stupid, he has to learn."

"That's not a valid reason. You can't lead through fear; quit hitting him."

"And if I don't?" he snarled.

Prowl bit his glossa. Getting angry would only ensure his doorwing would be pulled out of socket; it was time for reason. "You'll traumatize another youngling and lose a valuable teammate. I'll also find a way to make your life _miserable._ I've seen your work. You use your saw for surprise factor and because you don't mind gore. It's only when you're removing upgrades you get out the specialized tools. I really like quiet weapons."

" **Don't** try head games with me. You're not a killer either." Lockdown sneered.

"No, I rather admire life and like being able to live. Still, there are many ways to cause someone harm and the ancients were rather creative. Please don't make me think about demonstrating." He was bluffing to the extreme, and Lock could smell it.

"That was weak."

"You want to chance it?"

There was a disgusted snort, "Why do you even care what happens to him?"

The kicker was, Prowl didn't quite know why himself. It was like pulling someone out of the way of oncoming traffic. You didn't think about it or ask anything back; it was just a sentient, logical thing to do. The habit was only worsened by his enforcer's coding. Someone had to keep a better optic on Jazz. He gave a gentle shrug with his free wing, "Camaraderie? Bored? Take your pick. But I've seen where treating someone like that ends and I'm _not fragging doing it_ _again_. " Prowl took a moment to bite back the hiss on the edge of his glossa. "We need each other. If we can't work together now, how will we in space? Let me help you lead. In turn, you leave keeping Jazz in line to me."

Lockdown gave him the strangest look he'd seen on the mechling by far, caught somewhere between pitying and pained. "Your trying to protect _him_? This is twisted...like Stockhold Syndrome twisted. And you didn't even realize it."

" _ **What**_ are you talking about?"

"You'll figure it out, nerd."

With a sharp jerk, the weeds fell away and Lockdown set him down. He folded out his saw, slicing through the material that was obviously meant to keep guests out. "I heard you two getting sappy. You said you have a high pain tolerance. That's why you didn't crack in the rig when your audio blew and why you helped Jazz. Your folks toss you around a lot?"

"That wasn't for you to hear."

"Explains a lot." Lockdown made a strangled noise before forcing out "Sorry...if I scared you." Prowl used his arms to divide the weeds and his wings to keep them out of the way. Like he needed his pity. 'Formers didn't change just like that. He felt more like throwing it back in his faceplate.

"Just shut up, forget you heard anything."

"Oooh, where's Mr. Let's-be-friends-and-work-together?"

"You want to go there? Now, I get to ask something: what happened to Tsui? Is she your sister?" What he got was a lukewarm threat. "Those are the kind of questions that get you beat up." The Praxian made a concentrated effort to keep up with Lockdown's now hurried pace. "Fine. Does your being mad at Jazz have anything to do with me being unconscious? What happened while I was out?"

"Yes, and illegal stuff. We cut out some of your parts and sold them to an empty."

"Ha-ha. Nothing is missing. What really happened?"

This time Lockdown went silent and kept it that way.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Jazz mused they were taking way too long to get over the fence. He couldn't find the chip so he settled for exploring. If he stepped just right he could navigate through the weeds without making them move. Hopefully, by then they would have worked out whatever they had going on. Jazz wasn't blind, they'd been on the outs with each other since Miz.

Then there it was. A prickle along his spinal struts like tiny knives. Someone was watching. The best thing to do when this happened was to keep walking, whatever it was would keep following, not attacking. Up ahead there was a bunker with its door left ajar and he wasted no time wedging himself behind it. One pistol later he burst from his hiding spot—only to see a steeljaw pup. He relaxed, Lockdown's paranoia was catching. The critter stared at him with big lavender optics. Unlike Gasket's hybrid frame, it's tail was stumpy and hind end twenty-degrees lower than its front, complete with a ridge running down its back. It looked him up and down, lowered itself to the ground, and attempted to belly crawl away.

"Ey c'mere." The steeljaw squeaked as he scooped it up, attempting to bite. "What are yah doing scaring folks?" It growled quietly, optics darting back to the bunker. The nearing whine of a saw signaled the other two had finally made it. He cradled the pup in one arm, "Y'all real slow."

Lockdown made a show of studying the well-worn paths around the bunker. "Prowl got stuck."

"After you pushed me off the fence." Prowl countered indignantly, "What's with the puppy?" Jazz beamed and ruffled her stiff audios, "Team mascot!"

"We're not getting a hound."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Her owners might be down there." Lockdown clicked on his head lights and started down the stairs, "Forget that. There's probably something down there we can use."

"If we don't find them can we keep her?"

"Yes."

"Lockdown…"

"Can either of you track? We need a hound."

Said 'tracker' let out a low squeal and clawed at Jazz's plating, continuing to pitch a fit the further they went inside. It wasn't hard to see why. The blinding white lights in chambers beneath came on automatically as they entered, revealing things that were best left in darkness. Half conducted experiments lined the walls and filled tables and cages. As they progressed the subjects went from mechanimal to actual Transformers. It looked like mad scientist's laboratory from the movies, if that scientist shared space with a morgue.

No one spoke and Jazz was fine with that. Hopefully, whoever lived here was long gone. If not, they wouldn't want to alert them… In a separate chamber there was an ample collection of weaponry scattered on the floor as if someone had left in a hurry. All of it high caliber and marked with the Decepticon emblem.

Jazz tried to ignore that growing sense of dread. Something wasn't right. This was a sizable town, someone would have noticed a place like this. Where was everyone anyway? Then the plating on his spinal strut stood on end. Out of the corner of his optic he spotted a figure leaning against the door frame, eagerly devouring a canister of purple, almost black fluid. It coated his chassis, the neon ick running to the floor. Prowl sucked in a vent and Lockdown primed a blaster behind him. This 'former just had find them in the only hallway with broken lighting… He couldn't make out any features besides how misshapen they seemed.

He tucked his pistol out of sight, deciding to play the nice guy. "Sorry. Yah scared us. Thought this place was deserted—is this your hound?" The mech—femme—whatever took a shuddering step forward. Disproportionate claws scraped against the wall. In the brighter room, its servos seemed to be grotesquely patchworked together by welds. They didn't get long to gawk, one servo quickly returned to the shadows to cradle its owner's helm.

"Hey, need some help?"

Its purple optics flickered so hard they almost glitched out. _"Run."_

After that raspy, claws-on-granite voice, he scarcely had time to register those scythe-like talons closing the gap between them—or Lockdown wrenching him backwards. "Outta here now!" Jazz couldn't argue with that logic. The way out was complicated, though. The path was crowded, the creature fast, and unlike Deadlock, it actually wanted to do them lasting harm.

Under the lights, it looked like a blur of black and claws. In the madness, he slipped lading in something slick. He really didn't care to find out what it was. The trio spilled outside and a single shot rang out. The thing dropped with a thud, offline. Prowl stood wide opticed his acid pistol shaking in servo. He'd actually _shot_ someone…something…whatever it was. "Let me take that for you." Jazz twirled the pistol around and tucked it away while the Praxian continued to shudder.

Lockdown, meanwhile, made a wide circle around the creature. Its servos were complete with patched together, blade-like digits, inky purple-black armor all over, and its frame was spindly, emaciated. "It doesn't even look like a 'former anymore, does it?" He nudged the creature's helm with a ped and it lolled sideways. "Good shot, Prowls." Good shot was right. The things blank optics stared at nothing and a third dark hole still bubbled acid from the center of its forehelm. Prowl turned away, "Can we leave now, _please_?" Lockdown steeled himself before giving his saw a rev, "In a little bit. Just turn around, mute your audios." For a mechling with zero street-smarts, he was quick on the uptake. Heads were about to roll. Prowl did the next best thing and left the lot. It was probably for the best, turning around wouldn't have done much good for a Praxian. Jazz absently shifted the pup to scrub at his chassis and watched as Lockdown made sure this creature wouldn't revive.

"Ugly son-of-gun," Lockdown stepped back smoothly, transformed digits bothering a cluster of freshly implanted wires on the corpse. "It's an experiment. Someone did this to him on purpose. Altered him." For the first time, Jazz could say he hadn't see worse. A mix of cyan energon and black fluid oozed from every vent on the creature's broken frame. One glance at Lockdown confirmed he was just as ready to go. The pup finally made an unhappy squeal and Jazz tightened his grip on the chubby critter. "Yicck….Yah sure that was a good idea sendin' Prowl out there alone, unarmed?"

"We're right behind him, let's go."

Jazz waited a few nanos as he trailed behind the taller mech. "Yah still mad about Miz—?"

"Nope."

Seeing as this was coming from the same 'former that counted prolonged optic contact a conversation, that was a good enough answer for Jazz. "So…whaddaya think happened here?"

"Something evil."

They found the Praxian sitting right outside the fenced area, somehow looking more haunted than before. He didn't take optics off a particular home across the street when he called. "Hey, Lockdown…found someone else." One digit pointed to an open door of one home and a limp arm hanging out of it.

The flame-printed mech might have looked like death, but it didn't mean he enjoyed it. He'd had his share of living in a horror flick. "Time to roll."

* * *

 **Okay then…. I knew going into this that Jazz x Prowl is a massive pairing, and the last few chapters didn't help that image… but I've always wanted to write these two as brothers. Thus, the story title.** HEY, WAIT DON'T LEAVE AND HOLD YOUR FIRE! HEAR ME OUT! **There** _ **is**_ **another type of love there.**

 **Nerd time. There are three Greek words:** _ **stor·ge**_ _ **ʹ**_ **(family love),** _ **phi·li**_ _ **ʹ**_ _ **a**_ **(word for** **"** **affection** **"** **or** **"** **friendship"), and** _ **a·ga**_ _ **ʹ**_ _ **pe**_ **(can include affection and warmth, IDed by unselfish actions for the good of others). I see their relationship as a mix of all three. Prowl's been taught and coded to do good for others even if he gets nothing in return. Jazz isn't close to his twin anymore, but he's super social, and hangs around Prowl because he tolerates him like Stepper. They both feel empathy towards each other considering their origins/recent events. As for Lockdown…he's a loner with problems, but if I say much else I'll give too much away.**

 **Besides, romance is kinda a sore spot for me. At a certain age it's socially and culturally forced on you. It makes more sense that you should explore who you are before finding someone else. I've seen excellent examples of love and** _ **absolutely terrible ones**_ **from close friends. It's not something to be taken lightly… That's why I'm gun-shy about it. But that should have nothing to do with progression of the story. I'm not saying that there won't be any love interest (it's part of life after all), I just enjoy writing weirdness and friendships, its familiar territory. Besides things are about to get dicey.**

 **Thanks for reading this far.**


	15. Bassline

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Teeny tiny nods to the_ "Drift" _miniseries, epic comic_ "Sins of the Wreckers", _and its horrifying predecessor_ "Last Stand of the Wreckers".

* * *

" **Bassline"**

The best part about being near a major city was that there were more trams and seedy clubs. Lockdown intended to take full advantage of that. Now, here they sat in one of the latter in Uraya, still hiding from whatever came out of that bunker. Prowl was still shaking, Jazz had a blank look, the barkeeper kept giving them the evil-optic, and he stretched his sore saw arm. Whatever reinforcement had been in that thing's neck broke the teeth on his sawblade. For the umpteenth time, Prowl turned his deactivated pistol over in his servos, further ticking off the mech behind the counter. Blue and silver armor ruffled as he leveled a poisonous glare, "Look, I don't want any trouble."

"And you're not gonna get any," Lockdown snapped back, "We just want to sit!" The mech gave a mocking snort, "In a bar?" Before he could tell him where he could stick his sarcasm, Prowl tagged his ped beneath the table. "It's not worth it." The green mech leaned backwards, stressing the booth's rickety frame and restlessly watched their steeljaw clean the table of old energon. "Are we not going to talk about that thing?" Prowl planted his helm on table, "No." He sighed, this guy was a complete wuss. Jazz could tell him what happened in Miz at his own peril. "Snap out of it already, he was dead long before we got there." His engine gave a tinny whine, "I just killed someone!"

"Shhhhh…." The Polyhexian hissed, making a jerky motion towards the barkeep. "You'll get over it, besides I think you did him a favor." Lockdown watched those oversized panels slam against the back of the bench and the resulting wince. He was beginning to reconsider his prejudices towards the young Enforcer, watching him squirm was hilarious.

"Jazz!"

"What? The guy was sick."

"I can't believe you cut off his _helm_ , Lockdown…"

He offered the pup a small cube which she immediately shoved her head into, further soiling the tabletop. Why wouldn't he? It was hard to revive if your processor was gone. Besides, something about anatomy had always been kinda cool…especially the modified ones. "Yeah, if you want it dead, cut off the head. Look at this." Prowl frowned and finally forced himself to look at stills he sent. "What do you notice that's strange?" He shuffled, "Reinforced cabling, extensive framework, and it was consuming some sort of formula. It seems his frame was altered to make room for—improvements?" Lockdown rewarded him with a nod, "Judging from the stress lines it wasn't consented. Someone forcibly modified him while he was awake."

Prowl's fidgeting turned violent as he slammed his servos to the table, "We should call somebody…" That got a snort from Jazz. He dragged the pup from now empty the cube, encouraging her to clean the table again before snapping, "Who handles stuff like this?!" The Praxian linked them both into his comm. suddenly. "Stay quiet."

What came across the line was the best impression of an enraged Predacon Lockdown had ever heard. : _: FRAG OFF, you little parasites! Do you know how much trouble you three caused? ::_ With a problem to solve, he seemed to forget the events of earlier today and plunge right into the spark of the matter. _:: No, but I'd love to hear about it later. ::_

 _:: I'm kinda in the middle of something, I don't have time and Soundwave will trace you. ::_

Prowl leaned on the tabletop with an unquestionably punchable smirk on his faceplates, _:: I highly doubt you two are on speaking terms and after last time, he won't contact you unless you prompt and you don't want to do that. Besides, you want this exchange over as soon as possible for security reasons and you know if I don't get what I want I'll keep calling, probably at the worst time. No. I've got you all to myself. ::_

Deadlock growled, _:: I knew I didn't like you. Just wait until I get leave… What do you want? ::_ Prowl altered his tone to something innocent, _:: Just what you know about Topaz. ::_ There was a thoughtful pause signaling his personality shifted. _:: Ah, so you made it that far? Stay out of the bunker, stay away from Praxus, go back the way you came, and take the long way to Iacon. ::_

 _:: But what is this thing? It looks like—::_

 _:: Listen kiddo, in the end, it's for our own good. Stay away from the thing with claws. Don't call this line again. ::_ The comm. disconnected with a snap of finality leaving them in silence.

Prowl drummed his digits on the now sticky tabletop, "Okay. _Now_ we're out of options. What now?" "Nothing." Lockdown blurted, "It's someone else's problem, there're only three of us. You saw the lab, someone was working to improve the one we took out. You saw nothing, okay?"

"Smart move." All optics turned to the barkeep leaning on their table, a chipped glass he'd been cleaning still in one servo. "Can't believe someone made it out." Prowl leaned past him to better see the mech, "We're not from around here." An optical ridge raised, "That much I figured. We're calling those things Massacre Cons and you'd best stay off the streets at night. There've been sightings 'round here. We can't get any help from the Enforcers. Everyone in the town disappeared, only those things are left, and they won't come help." Lockdown didn't miss the venomous look he shot Prowl. "About a mega-cycle ago, all these distress calls started coming in, something about monsters and disappearances. One guy, Powerstroke, went to go check it out and he never came back. Weird, right? But you know what I think it was? Aliens. There are these organic freaks with two sets of arms called Slavers—"

Lockdown's optics crossed and Prowl kicked him under the table. _:: Those guys deal with abductions for research to make mods for_ themselves _. Why would they waste time altering Transformers in a place where they were out of their element and outnumbered? It's an inside job. ::_

 _:: Play nice, I have an idea. Let me do the talking. ::_ On the outside the Praxian smiled, " It would seem that's the only option. Strange times we live in." Prowl laced his digits together, "I noticed you have a stage, what type of performers do you normally get, mister…?" The mech shifted, "Stand-up comedy. Doesn't draw as many people as you think and I didn't give you my designation."

Since he wasn't deaf he had to be ignoring the mech's condescending tone. Seemed he was willing to forget about being mocked too. "Would you be interested in a musical act?" Lockdown glanced over, expecting to see Jazz on the edge of his seat. Instead he found an empty chair.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Sometime after the word 'alien' had been thrown around Jazz left. His helm hurt and the steeljaw was heavy. In the back of the club, there was a cramped service closet. He dropped her in the nearest sink and switched on the tap. Not happy about being wet, the Steeljaw squealed and barked, trying to nip his digits. "Calm down, lil lady. No telling what that thing had on 'em." The pup didn't care and continued to whine, splashing solvent everywhere. Somehow, his optics trailed to his chassis and the dried trails of ick marring it. "Scrap."

Jazz hurriedly booted the pup out of the sink and scrubbed at the gunk. So that had been what he fell into… He undid his plating in a rush. Maybe, just maybe, nothing was wrong and it had only gotten on the outside. He had no such success. Whatever it was had seeped beneath his plating and into the wound, turning what had been mending protoform into an ugly sore. Now his sudden helmache was looking a lot more sinister. All he could think of were the Plague ridden turbofoxes they'd left out in The Depths. That was going to be him soon. He huddled beneath the sink. No, worse, he was going to turn into that Massicon experiment and go crazy and get shot. Then Stepper was going to be all by himself. And whatever he had was going to spread—

Lockdown burst in unexpectedly with the pup under one arm. "There you are, Prowl got a job for you. Yannow the legal kind." He looked up nervously, fumbling to put his armor back into place, "Kay." Still, Lockdown didn't leave, he just stood there, staring. Jazz wasn't going to lie and say they were the most normal—or sane—younglings, but Lockdown took the oilcake for freaky behavior even by his standards. Maybe in another time he would have been a medical aid, but here, he put what he'd picked up on to grisly use. Worst yet, his 'picking-you-apart' and his curious expression looked exactly alike. That just made it more unnerving when he wouldn't break optic contact. "You okay down there?"

"Yes…ah don't have any mods you can use, _git_."

"It's not that." The other mech's attention was drawn away when the pup squawked. "C'mon and armor up, Ramshackle said we can stay."

The room he was lead to was the size of the closet they'd just left, but choked with berths instead of supplies. Jazz made himself at home on the bunk across from Lockdown and above Prowl's. For the first time in a while, things were quiet and he had anactual slagging bed. He planted his faceplate in the padding, letting out a long ex-vent. The steeljaw quickly gave up trying to reach him and found a new heating pad in the green mech's lap, optics blessedly shut. Excepting the other twos muted back and forth about what to name her, everything was peaceful. They didn't have to worry about being attacked by vagrants.

Meanwhile, Jazz's mind raced. His HUD suddenly flashed: **MEDIC**. Maybe it would go away. He wasn't turning into one of those things—right? It took about an orn for a fox to come down with the Plague. How long did it take for sentients? He leaned back, linking into the data-net. There was no way he was looking that up, not if the Council or Soundwave was monitoring. No; thanks to Lockdown he had to make a whole new playlist from scratch. He sporadically blacked out only to find himself dangling from the bunk by his legs. Yeah, sure…everything was going to be fine.

Prowl glared, "You're going to fall from there."

"Leave me alone."

"Get. Down. We need to talk."

No…not this now… Jazz let himself drop. "What?"

The Praxian held up a greenish chip, "Ramshackle said normally you have to be twenty-eight vorns to enter but he's willing to make an exception in your case. All you must do is look the part. Here's your chip. Same tech as Deadlock's color changer, it just changes your appearance temporarily."

Jazz smirked, that was cute. They really thought he didn't already have one. "Keep it." He let his paint ripple red and white, features shifting accordingly.

Prowl cringed, "That can't be healthy."

"Surprise, it's not."

"Nice re-color."

"Call me Ricochet."

"I thought you didn't need an alias."

Jazz slouched. Frag, he wanted to lie down. He knew it wasn't good to use it frequently at his age in the first place, but this time it felt like the mod was sapping his strength. "It's a—it's just a stage name."

"Are you well?"

Fortunately, the green mech saved him. "We did just leave the little bunker of horrors…That place was kinda nasty." Lockdown shrugged, toying with the recharging pup's audios, "Sure you're okay?" Jazz raised an optic ridge at the forced sentiment, "About to ask yah the same. Guys, I'll be fine. Ahm not gonna pass up this just cuz ah got a case of the jitters."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

On neon lit stage, Jazz had the crowd in the rundown dance hall eating out of his servos. Every move, every vocalization was perfect. Had he not been an enforcer, he would have made a brilliant entertainer. The youngling could work a crowd. Prowl hunkered in a corner taking advantage of the dark. No one was going to care he was here but it was all the better he stayed hidden. Lockdown had disappeared off with some sketchy looking 'formers so it was just him…and the morons who thought it was funny to continuously dump energon down his back. Ramshackle kept suppling them with it, probably with instruction to do so and he took it; that's what he was supposed to do. He frowned as Jazz missed a step, but managed to covered it up. The Polyhexian ended with a resounding cheer and he dropped into the crowd before reappearing at Prowl's table looking like himself again. "Ah think rations are on me for a while," he grinned, wisely patting the subspace pocket where his payment wasn't. Prowl took a sip of his energon but stayed quiet.

"Whas wrong with you?"

"I hate you sometimes."

"Well, I knew that—"

He made an inclusive gesture towards the suffocating crowd, "How do you get them to like you?" Jazz shrugged, "They wanna party, so just give 'em what they want. Shake 'em up, make 'em feel good. You gotta watch fa cues."

"You make it look easy."

"Yeah, it is when you're not an aft," he quipped good naturedly.

"Oh, so that's what it is…"

"Ahm, serious. Yah too blunt."

"I've never liked lying."

Jazz pressed helm his into his arms folded on the table. "Coat it with silicone then."

"Seriously, when you walk into a room you just mesh right in. People like you; I envy that."

Jazz was taken aback enough to look up briefly, "Yah really mean that…thanks mech."

The Praxian's wings lifted in a shrug.

"If we're being honest, ah envy those."

"Really."

"Yeah, femmes love the kibble."

"That's news to me. In case you haven't heard, I repel everyone."

"Yah alright Prowlah. Yah tell it like it is." Jazz's visor brightened, illuminating the hollow his arms made. "Yah know hi-grade goes inside you, right?"

"Ramshackle doesn't."

"Don let it get tah yah. Hey, listen. You remember that old story, Aequitas; the giant computer that decides if you're guilty or not?"

"Yes…it's not real is it?"

"Uh…"

"Nevermind, I don't want to know. What about it?"

"If you don't have the password there's another alternative to activating it…"

Then, Lockdown unexpectedly slid to the table with a conspiring look on his faceplate bordering on giddy, "Let's go to the roof." Understanding he probably wasn't going to hear the rest of the story tonight, Prowl welcomed an excuse to leave and followed him up the rickety stairs.

Outside, the landing over looked the city and Praxus sparkling further out. Uraya was cold at night due to its altitude and every vent left with a puff of smoke. Beside him Jazz shuddered, "Well?" The green mech started distributing cubes of multiple colors, before plopping to the floor. Prowl shook his cube, watching the contents swirl like a static storm. "Is this engex?" The Polyhexian wasn't fazed, "What's the occasion?"

"We're off planet."

The sentence hung in the air like a haze.

"What?"

"We got enough for lift off! I sold some of the guns." He smirked, eying Prowl, "What? No: 'You stop that, that's illegal'?" The Enforcer let out a heavy vent, "We're way past that, Lockdown. Good on you." Surprise lit red optics, "Whaddya know, the cop changed his colors." Prowl clenched a fist, "Everyone already thinks Enforcers are a bunch of cheats and murderers. Why disappoint them? If my sire can be the way he is and Deadlock can be a mercenary who doesn't off younglings, then I can be a criminal who keeps most of the values of an Enforcer." He kicked back the small cube in one go, its strong, syrupy contents nearly lodging in his intakes. He coughed, "This tastes pretty good…." Lockdown moved the others back as he practically inhaled another, "Pace yourself, it's not sweet en."

"Yah just had tah get him hooked…" Jazz grumbled.

Maybe the engex was starting to kick in but that didn't sound like the perky mechling he knew. He was slumped, holding his helm and rubbing at his temples with a slow fury. Even his biolights were dimming out. Lockdown finally spoke up. "Get your tranquilizers ready and we can go get Stepper." Jazz's visor brightened marginally, "We talked about it, he wants to stay. We've been apart too long, this ought to finish whatever tie we have left."

Prowl frowned, "Close brother?"

"He's my twin."

"Oh, great, there are two of you…twice the terror." The wince Jazz made proved his mouth-to-processor filter was down. This was further confirmed when Lockdown cuffed him, looking genuinely irritated. "You're an only sparkling, don't rub it in. There _is_ just one of you, right?" Prowl blinked, this slag _was_ strong. It actually looked like Lockdown was trying to defend the youngling… He'd jibe the green mech about that, but the back of his helm still ached. Prowl nodded unsteadily, "Yeah, Cabal made sure of that. I have an incurable glitch. I was sparked with rare and malignant ability to think for myself. So, I'm a complete failure and an embarrassment. I can't do anything right…"

"Will you cut the sap already? Are you overcharged that quick?"

Scrap, he'd been found out. "No! Okay alittlebit."

"Prowl, yah aint useless, yah been helping us out. Yah done good." Jazz barely managed a grin. "I think we might need to avoid Praxus for a while. I think Decepticons might be gathering there. I kinda picked up something when we were back with Deadlock—"

"Huh?" Lockdown straightened, "How long have you known?"

"Ever since then. Everything's getting kind of blurry—"

"And you're just now telling us?"

"Will yah leave me alone for two kliks?!"

Something definitely wasn't right. Jazz darkened his visor and held his helm as if it were trying to split in two. The green mech leaned closer, "And how long has _that_ been going on?"

"Just a few joors."

"You're seeing a medic next cycle."

"Ahm not sick."

"Okay," the green mech huffed, finally breaking into his own engex, "What else is eating you?" He hesitated and it slowly clicked for Prowl. Both he and Lockdown stood to lose a lot, more than he ever would. They had family here; Jazz's ties to Polyhex ran deep and the green mech… well, even the creepy cousin could be missed. Maybe he shouldn't press that issue. Finally, Jazz spat it out, "What if out there isn't all that?"

Surprisingly, Lockdown didn't get nasty about his doubt. "Space is empty and there are other colonies and worlds and sentients. There's no Council, no unrest, no smog. It's got to be better up there than down here. It has to be." Prowl mulled over how when you squinted all the lights looked like foggy sparks. "Sooooo. We're looking for a utopia?"

"No. Where we go doesn't have to perfect, just not here. Look up there." Lockdown gestured to a thin strip of white dots peppering the smoggy night sky, "How many stars do you see?"

"One-two-three-four-five-ten-fifteen-"

"Don't count them, lugnut." He growled it out, but the heat was gone. "My great-grandsire said we used to be able to see all of them and the sun. We used to have moons. I wanna see for myself. There's more to life than castes and all this craziness. We can do better and it's going to start up there. No matter what, we're getting off Cybertron together. Okay?"

"Al'righ." Jazz nodded.

Prowl shrugged, "Wasn't like I had anything else planned." He managed to take two swigs of a third cube before Lockdown snatched it back. "Hey, enough! You'll rust your processor. I thought you were against this?"

"The goody-two-rims always snap the hardest. An we're on tha roof yah gonna have tah carry 'im back…" Sound drained away and gravity felt like it was being reversed, but it was actually enjoyable. Maybe this is what floating felt like. Minus being dropped on the floor. Lockdown, he assumed from the EMP field, finally managed to deposit him on the berth before dragging off to his own. Everyone seemed bushed… Unfortunately, he wasn't.

"Hey, Jaaazzzzzz."

"What?"

"Everything sounds better when you're floaty. Wanna hear me sing?"

A visored, upside down helm appeared over the edge and then turned to glare at Lockdown. "See this wreck? Imma mute mah audios. He's your problem, not mine."


	16. Blister

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _'M still alive, just busy with stuff._

 _Remember, that weird poem and the warning about things getting dark? This is where that starts to come in. "Halfcut" is back._

 _Want some fitting music?_

Twenty-One Pilots—Polarize

The Fray—Cable Car

Muse—Time is Running Out

The Cab— Disturbia (clean)

* * *

" **Blister"**

Prowl woke up to howling. Or singing. He couldn't tell, his helm was trying to explode. The blue and silver mech burst into their tiny room still belting out some drinking song.

"Morning sunshines!"

The sound hit him like a wall of—well, wall. He managed a groggy, "Stoppppp."

Ramshackle instead slammed servos on his bunk with a resounding clang, "Got into the high-grade, did y'all?"

"No, engex." Lockdown added, sounding completely sober. His squinted optics told a different story though.

Ramshackle snorted, seeing straight through the green and black mech, "And you'll never do it again. Come on, up you get. You're running errands."

Prowl managed to pry his helm from the berth padding, "Why should we?"

The mech snorted, "You thought you were staying here for free? Nah. Get up, lazy, or you're out."

Perfect. Prowl groaned and thumped the berth above his. "Jazz, gettup."

Instead, he heard a pistol power up.

"Ahm sleepin' in."

He sluggishly crawled up to rest his helm on the edge to find Jazz curled up in a ball, looking absolutely miserable.

"Fine."

Lockdown shoved a recharging bundle over the edge, "Watch Flamewar."

That seemed to rouse the Polyhexian. "You named tha hound Flamewar…That ittybitty puppy?"

"She'll grow into it. I'm not naming her _Susan_." He leveled a very glazed look at Prowl, "That's not even a word. What kinda name is that?"

"One that doesn't sound like death," he shot back.

Lockdown nudged the ailing youngling with a type of care Prowl didn't think he had. "You look like pit and you didn't even drink that much…"

Jazz shrugged their concern off tautly, "Ah'll be fine. Getoutta here, you're makin' mah helm hurt."

Prowl didn't think twice about it and reluctantly followed Lockdown outside. Which was a mistake. Beyond the bar, it was bright, loud, and only made his migraine worse. But he was going to be fine…just fine.

Five kliks later he came stumbling out of an alley before pressing his helm against a wall, "I wanna die."

"No, you don't, that's what happens when you've had pure distilled." Lockdown's optical shutters pried further back to reveal his optics were dimmed to a murky red. "Thought you were never going to finish purging. Now you see why I said take it easy on the engex? Your problems are still there in solar cycle."

"You sound like my carrier…"

"Good. Now optics at forty percent or you're going to have a bad cycle."

His optics dimmed several shades and his frame sagged, "Thanks, so we need to pick up what?"

Lockdown slapped a beaten pad, the device finally flickering to life. "I dunno, can't make out the list. Either he's got really bad glyph skills or I'm still overcharged."

"You wanna go sleep this off?" the Praxian suggested.

"YES. Just grab random scrap and we'll call it a cycle."

Several kliks they were almost done when Lockdown paused for a nano.

"Hey, Prowl, look around. There are more Enforcers here than last cycle, armed ones."

The helmache lifted just enough for him to make out the nearest mech. "That weapon there is a 27-Slagmaker. Those don't come out unless there's a severe threat. Heard anything on the broadcasts?"

"Everything's normal."

Then he saw an all too familiar felid Predacon and made optic contact with a bulky, rust colored Decepticon tucked out of the line of sight of any Enforcer. Eventually, the shorter mech saw them as well.

Lockdown bristled, taking a few steps forward, "Isn't that Bobtail?"

Prowl put an arm out in front of him, halting the other youngling. It was something about the way that Decepticon eyed him up and down made his plating crawl, even more so when the Preda nodded toward them and continued talking.

Prowl backed away, "Yeah, so why are you getting closer, idiot? We can't fight them. Let's get what we need and stay off the streets."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Back at the bar, Flamewar dragged herself up, a hind paw immediately shooting up to scratch behind one audio. It was too hot. The blue and black steeljaw shook herself alert. Looking around, she noted the other two 'formers were gone, it was just her and the-one-with-no-optics. She liked him, he smelled like fresh air and didn't do painful things to her body, unlike the-one-with-one-optic. The pup paused. She really should name him. "Blue" sounded nice, but first: food.

The pup nuzzled close to his faceplates and licked his olfactory ridge. That was always the best way to wake someone. All the other hounds had done it. Her subject though, moaned and rolled away. That wasn't going to cut it. She wanted food and she wanted it **now**. Flamewar used her thick head to ram his tank. That ought to wake him. She was small and thick, not slinky like a turbofox or lanky like a cyberwolf.

He sat up slowly, holding his tank and she huffed in pride, nosing further. Great, now on to step two… 'Formers didn't understand beast speak, but it was worth a shot.

"Good. You're up. Food?"

He didn't respond, he didn't even look at her.

She barked, "Hey! Blue! Food!"

Blue instead jumped off the berth and ran.

"Not right…" she whined. His scent was different now, it smelled like hot and the bad place. This was bad… The steeljaw hovered at the edge of the berth before sliding off, hitting the floor. She stumbled sideways before rising and tearing down the hallway as fast as her stubby paws could carry her.

"Blue! Come back!"

Flamewar found him bent over the same deep tank he'd tried to wash her in making horrible noises. Now she gave in to fear. Blue was sick like the other 'formers had been in the bad place. Only the one opticed mech could help him and that would mean painful cuts and needles. But her old master wasn't here, he'd left her. Flamewar wasn't keen on being left alone again.

She tugged on his leg armor angrily, "Blue, come down."

The limb she had began to shake and the 'former did as told, nearly landing on her.

"Okay?"

The blank sheet on his face was dangerously black and he wiped at the purge on the corner of his mouth. She sat on one of his massive knees, "Sick. Lie down."

He didn't understand, as was to be expected. He just smiled and mussed her audios, muttering 'former nonsense. Then the rest of him began to spasm harder and he went limp, helm hitting the floor with a painful smack.

Flamewar sniffed his cheek and gave in to loud wails. What was she going to do now?!

Then the 'former that was actually colored blue walked in and she had a glimmer of hope. They could fix their own, he'd get help. Then another 'former appeared, followed by two more—and none of them were the ones that turned into things with engines.

Flamewar puffed up the stiff plating along her back, stationing herself in front of her downed master. They were ones that pretended to be creatures like her, but that was a lie. Her kind did not like these. The first one snapped something angrily and left, leaving the two femme liars and the actual blue one. The red one's audios folded back at seeing her, but came closer to Blue anyway. She lunged at the cyber-wolf liar, tiny fangs bared. She had to keep them away until Green and Black made it back.

Instead, the pink one caught her roughly, making scolding noises at her.

She growled in turn, finally clamping down on a digit until she drew energon. Flamewar's tail beat furiously. "Take that."

The second liar femme didn't react though. Her yellow optics narrowed and she made the most terrible sound. It wasn't like they piercing shrieks of the things her old master turned 'formers into. This was a rushing, breathy hiss, like some awful slithering creature. She was a new type Flamewar had never seen before. This 'former looked normal, smelled of lying 'formers, and spoke like something she'd never heard until now.

The pup pinned her audios back in submission. She could really use her pack now.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

They couldn't have made it back soon enough for Lockdown. It was bad enough his helm was still foggy, but the streets were crawling with 'formers on edge and none of the medics were in. Jazz was going to have to hold out until they could track one down.

He'd been fine for this long. It would be fine. Even so, something worrisome niggled at the back of his processor. Not even the small bit of engex the noisy mech had taken could make him that sluggish. Lockdown had seen something like this before and it didn't leave victims...only stiff corpses…

He slammed the random items onto the main bar abruptly, startling Prowl.

"Ramshackle, got your scrap!"

"Loud." The Praxian winced.

"Then cover your—"

Lockdown was cut off by a pleading baying noise rising from the depths of the back rooms followed by an angry Predacon's voice.

He stormed back angrily walking into the storage room just in time to see some pink femme pinning Flamewar down with splayed digits and a scanner in the other servo.

"What do think you're doing?!"

Bright optics widened with surprise before they narrowed to yellow slits, "Checking for scraplets."

He shouldered her away, scooping the wailing steeljaw up. "You can't go snatching people's pets! What are you even doing back here? The bar is closed."

"That would be fixing your mistake," said a different voice.

A new faceplate stood beside Ramshackle, this one a Predaconian wolf. Her spiny, russet frame easily settled to optic level in front of them, almost too close, pale brown optics glinting. Her accent came deep and hoarse. "So, these are the sick ones?"

Right off, Lockdown didn't like her. It was the way she watched them, like she was scouting her next meal. Canid Predas gave him the creeps. At least with mechanimals he knew where he stood. Their kind were notorious for masquerading as pets and killing their 'owners' or attacking vehi-modes with sheer numbers. That was why he preferred steeljaws. There were no steeljaw Predacons. They and the pureblooded hounds were natural enemies; the latter used in hunting down Predacons in hiding. That explained the evil look the medic had now fixed Flamewar with.

The pink femme cocked her helm, "Some guard hound."

The pup hid her snout in the crook of his arm and Lockdown blocked her from view, "Who are you?"

In response, Ramshackle stepped up. "Mechlings, this is Spade, she's a medic. I found your friend passed out in here. Any ideas what's wrong with him?"

The platelets at the back of his neck stood on end, "She's the medic, why can't—"

A claw found its way to his throat, "Shush, it's a learning experience. Now look him over."

He pulled away from the Preda with a jerk. "He's probably overcharged," Lockdown rolled his optics and knelt beside the downed Polyhexian, "Hangover caught up with you? C'mon, get up."

But Jazz didn't respond. On second glance, his biolights were nearly off.

"Somethings wrong…" he rubbed his shoulder, "He's burning up."

By now Prowl had pushed him over to his back.

"He's still having a reaction to the engex?"

"The guy drinks poison for fun. I don't know what could have…"

The Praxian undid the ill-fitting armor on his midsection, revealing a dark, purple, festering scar. "Oh no."

Lockdown focused on the wound and started backing away, tank dropping. "I think he got cut by that guy."

Prowl gave a frustrated snort, "Why are you so worried?"

"Sparkeaters, mech."

"It was a Massicon and there's _**no such thing**_ as SPARKEATERS. Grow up!"

He kept his voice just shy of hysteria, "Ah, yeah, there is. Ever seen Tachron's Unexplained Case Files?"

The wolf Predacon rose to her full height, "I've seen enough, bring him in here."

Prowl exvented heavily as he hoisted Jazz up and settled for talking over the sick youngling's helm. "It's all lies for a 'good' show."

Lockdown found his lack of fear disturbing.

"Okay, smart mech. You ever seen weird stuff come through the Enforcers? How do you know Massicon isn't new code for Sparkeater?"

Prowl seemingly ignored him as he continued dragging Jazz back to their room. "Will you stow your paranoia for one klik and help me? We wouldn't even be in this position if you hadn't turned on him! The worst he probably has is a little virus. We should just wait until the fever breaks."

Lockdown wrestled Flamewar into a still hold with his left arm and supported Jazz with the other, not so subtly grazing Prowl's armor as he did. The Praxian responded in kind with an unsympathetic wing swat to the back of his helm hard enough to send it forward. He could fricking feel the dent forming. Okay, so maybe he had that one coming…

"If he hadn't been dumb enough to—"

Prowl's helm snapped around and for a nano he though he was looking at Cabal.

"Finish that sentence if you don't want an optic. _It's all_ _ **your**_ _fault._ "

Lockdown hadn't felt anything strongly in a personal sense long time, it was a real shame the first thing he did was tank curdling, familiar guilt. Like pit he was going to show that to the anal Praxian though.

They left Jazz on Prowl's berth and Spade sat on its edge, prehensile tail pushing them into the middle of the room. She circled, hovering just out of kicking range for them, but close enough she could to reach out and slash them. At least there was only one of her.

"Now." She started, "Tell me what you were thinking."

He stepped forward in Prowl's stead. Because if the Praxian wouldn't shut up about Jazz getting hurt, he'd never hear the end of it if he was hurt himself. "We just had engex. Jazz barely had half a cube and he's had it loads of times. He wasn't acting like himself. We though he was just hungover but now he won't wake up. That mark doesn't look like something that heals overnight, he's unconscious. We were going to get a medic…"

Razor sharp claws found armor latches and she set about probing the Polyhexian's clearly worsened gash. She made a clicking noise, gaze darting back to the door. The vehicle mode femme quickly sat beside her, pink and white frame contrasting sharply with the dark, ruddy medic crouching in front of them.

Her right arm split, medical grade cables jacking home behind Jazz's helm. After what seemed like forever she growled, optics freezing them in place. "I didn't say stop. Was there anything strange about him?"

"He was acting kinda sluggish, like he couldn't focus. Worse than usual."

Spade's tail curled upwards, "He's had previous issues? When did they start?"

"After some sort of robbery a few orns ago. He teamed up with another hacker."

"Were either of you aware he was injured?"

"Yes—" Prowl hissed, anger not directed to the wolf 'former, "It didn't look anything like that, though."

She rose, medical cables freeing themselves before she stood at her full height. "That is because after this happened he encountered an infectious substance. It's attempting to erode his processor. To make matters worse, that hacker most likely slipped him a background virus that has been tormenting him as well. He is in terrible shape. I would expect you both to do better in caring for your own."

"How were we supposed to know?!" Lockdown shot.

"You are both older than he. Try taking notice of your packmates."

Prowl shifted uneasily, "Is he going to be okay?"

"He may. The viruses are at a stalemate and his own defenses are fighting. If he lasts the next two cycles he will live." Spade turned, making a barrier between them and Jazz, "Tell me, where have you been?"

"We don't have to tell you squat," he warned.

Her tail flagged dangerously, "Insulting the medic is bad for the patient. You're not in the position to choose. Either you tell, or he certainly dies." She held up a syringe of antivirals. "Your choice."

Lockdown snarled. He _hated_ Predas.

"There, there, don't be like that. It's the safety of my pack for yours; a fair trade."

He must have looked confused because Ramshackle spoke up. "Caught wind of your little trade off last cycle. Looks like we're in a position to help each other."

This was exactly why he preferred to work alone. Teams were just walking liabilities. But despite what he thought he wanted, his vocalizer finally eked out the words: "What do you want to hear?"

Spade took on a conversational tone, "Where are you from? Where have you been? Where you got those weapons would be a good place to start."

So, select parts of their story came burbling up like rancid energon; escaping The Center, Deadlock, getting away from him, and running into the Massicon lab. At the end of it the pink vehi-mode snorted, "You three are fragging _insane_."

Spade shushed her before quickly applying antivirals into Jazz's systems, "Very good, younglings, and I only mean you telling your story." She loomed over them, "If your goal was stupidity you've done a remarkable job at it. Your parentages didn't teach you better?! A few more joors and he would be dead."

She removed Flamewar from his arms.

"And this? This is a tool for destruction."

"It's a puppy." He spat attempting to get the steeljaw back.

Her tail swept him close, "What you picked up is the same as the experiment you encountered, only not activated. What your friend contracted were the nanites to fuel it. If that had landed on your pet she would have been too wild to control by now. We are now under quarantine. No one in, no one out. Halfcut, be a dear and take first watch over him? Try to leave, mechlings, and I will eat you."

"Why is the first threat you guys make always involve eating someone?" Lockdown yelled after her.

"It's super effective." The pink femme plopped on his berth, crossing her legs. "Nothing is scarier than facing a mawful of fangs. Rust stick?"

"What?"

"Would. You. Like. A. Treat?" she waved a cannister at them both, shrugging when neither accepted, "Fine, more for me."

Since his berth was occupied he slid to the floor, temporarily defeated. They'd hit a speedbump but he'd find a way out of this—for all their sakes.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Spade left the younglings to familiarize themselves with each other. It had been some time since they'd gotten vehicle modes inducted into their pack. The Preda underground was scattered, but well connected. The wolf-femme had heard tell Deadlock was transporting some younglings enroute to Iacon, all three with varied records. So, when Ramshackle commed about a sick one no more than thirteen vorns she'd been more than willing to come investigate.

They were the same ones Bobtail had described: a lanky green and black, Meister the Polyhexian, and Cabal's spawn. If Soundwave wanted them they had to be good for something. Old enough to get around by themselves and take orders, but young enough to be naïve. And naivete was so rare now.

Having Halfcut around would hopefully give them initiative to stay, or—if the mod ghoul's reaction was anything to go by—a warning to.

The Preda femme found a dark corner of the closed bar with a view of the door. She'd been keeping an optic on the pink femme ever since a secret cull put out by the Autobots. The way they reasoned, Terrorcons were one of the a few Cybertronian builds they had no control over. Unlike Predas, they had their own cloaking ability and couldn't be sniffed out with steeljaws or scanners. One wouldn't know one was around until it was too late—if you were a vehicle mode. As their bitter rivals, Predas could sense them. They were one of their home world's last wonders, but even that had been sullied.

Somehow the Autobots had found a way to track down a clan of Terrorcons. The last cull was vorns ago and had stirred up so much confusion and carnage in Uraya things were just getting back to "normal". Then, there had just been a raid on her own pack and she'd been relentlessly scanning the black market for any trace of someone that might have survived. She instead found Halfcut.

The then sparkling was stuck in vehicle mode, processor wiped of memory, and was being sold to the highest bidder. It had been loss talking, compelling her to take her away; so, she did. Halfcut could play both fields: a vehicle and a beast mode. As for her past life…Spade knew her family unit was lost to either the market or Autobot scientists. She didn't think it was worth upsetting her charge over though.

The peace was shattered by her flaky host coming in to sit across from her.

"So, is he contagious…?" Ramshackle ventured.

The Preda allowed a grim look to mar her faceplate, "He mostly likely will be for two cycles, Shockwave has outdone himself again." It was a lie, he wasn't. The only way Ramshackle would catch the infection was if he shot those nanites directly into his energon stream.

"Are you _sure_ you want them?"

She disliked vehicle-modes but she wasn't stupid enough to turn them over to him. The little hoodlums were fortunate she'd been here. "Better them with me than you. Had he not overheated, you were headed right to black markets with them."

"Whatever. So, what time will your friends be in town?"

"A cycle from now. Energon when left to boil, eventually expands and destroys the container. Cybertron is the same. Balance shall be restored."

He groaned, "Are you still repeating that Dread cult nonsense?! Its creeping me out."

"The Dread are not myths or a cult. They are guardians of Cybertron." She stated coolly.

"Oh sure, let the power that be swoop in and save us."

" _Don't mock._ I never said they were divine either, far from it. Apparently, they are just as lost as we've become. But they will resurface."

"Yeah, yeah."

Her audios flattened. It was obvious Ramshackle didn't care. He was one of the mindless droves that craved anarchy…but even the most useless tool had a function…

He strode behind her placing a servo on her shoulder, "You know, I really appreciate you rushing out here. I would have lost an item. You even brought bait to get them to stay."

A heavy shrug sent the offending appendage off. "Don't mention it. My protégé needs practice and my pack needs firepower."

"I'd like to show you how much—"

"I do not mix business and pleasure…or _fraternize_ with vehicle modes."

As she turned to leave she heard, "Killjoy."


	17. Burn

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _…. none_

* * *

" **Burn** **"**

Prowl had become used to nightmarish calls long before Jazz became an addition to his life. At this point an unfamiliar voice snarling across his comm was a minor annoyance.

 _:: Wake. Up. Twerp. ::_

He took a moment clear his processors that were still throbbing a cycle after his engex binge, _:: Who is this? ::_

 _:: His twin,_ _ **Stepper**_ _. ::_ The voice bit, Polyhexian accent deeper than the Ferin Depths. He sounded way too much like Jazz, too angry, and too close… _:: Why can't I get in contact with Jazz? ::_

 _:: He's sick, picked up a virus. ::_

 _:: How sick? ::_ he barked.

Unconscious, overheating, with the possibility of lasting processor damage at the worst. That was how bad. He wasn't about to tell the assassin's twin that though. _:: Small virus, he's resting. ::_

Oddly, enough Stepper still got several shades of livid, _:: He's never so out of it he can't answer to bond call, you're lying. Where are you two now? ::_

This time Prowl figured maybe if he didn't lie Stepper wouldn't freak out. Of course, he was wrong he let the city's name slip Stepper began to swear so hard Prowl was sure he could feel the anger rolling off him.

 _:: You're more trouble than you're worth alive… You know, everything was fine before he got assigned to you. Why'd he pick_ _ **you**_ _?! ::_

Prowl frowned. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a sparkling's temper tantrum at being separated from their sibling. He'd gladly hand him back over to the livid twin if he could…but he'd be lying if he said he was the smallest bit resistant to the idea.

 _:: Calm down, Jazz is stable— ::_

 _:: It's not that! ::_

Something long buried shifted in his processor, leaving Prowl disoriented and still thinking he was using his comm. **~ I know, there are more Enforcers around here than usual. ~** He was then blind sighted by an uncomfortable sensation of being stabbed through the chassis.

 **~—shoulda just killed you. ~** Stepper muttered, **~ Stay where you are, you dumb slagger. ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

At the same time, Lockdown shifted irritably as the vehi-mode healer leapt off the uppermost bunk, landing on silent peds in front of the younger mechling's berth. Flamewar growled spitefully as she approached her spot next to Jazz and the pink femme hissed in turn.

Someone had been around Predas way too long; she even _acted_ like them. The femme hadn't said more than a handful of words and tended to ignore them. Jazz was still out of it and for once everything was too quiet. He never thought he'd say it, but he was starting to miss the noise. The youngest wasn't looking good. His overheating had stabilized, sure, but his temperature wasn't going down either. Nonetheless he asked, "How's he looking?"

Yellow optics flicked up and she gave him that distant, enquiring gaze. "Terrible. He was a few temp notches shy of having to have a whole frame overhaul, but he should online in a few cycles, probably be back to normal in a few orns."

That was good news. It was hard to remember a time when Jazz had been "normal". If that meant less annoying he was all for it. He rolled to his tanks, genuinely curious about the femme. She was an optic searing pink, yet had no problems sneaking up them or blending in. She couldn't have been much older than he was, but she carried herself as if she'd been online for millennia.

"So," he started, "Your designation is Halfcut?"

The femme slouched with an irritated mutter, "My _friends_ call that; you guys call me Arcee."

Lockdown narrowed his optics. What kind of a name was that? A basic, barebones, prehistoric name that could be for any 'former depending on how you glyphed it. "Halfcut" had more inflection than that. The first sounded like a name picked at random. He groaned internally, he'd been talking to Prowl way too much…

"You're _really_ pink."

"I like the color, you got a problem with that?"

"No ma'am."

Arcee folded her arms. "Drop the formality, you're gonna make me hurl. You gonna keep asking me questions the whole time?"

"Yeah," he challenged, "Between these two I haven't had a moments peace since we left. Now I have and it sucks. TALK."

She tilted her helm, "Okay. What's up with that mess on your face? You look like a Terrorcon."

"I like it."

Unblinking optics gazed up at him, "Are you a fan of them?"

"Look, I do some messed up slag, but I draw the line at cannibalism."

Arcee shrugged, plopping onto Jazz's berth, "It's only cannibalism if you're the same build." And she'd said it with such an honest face that clearly said, 'I'm deadly serious'. He'd seen—well—no this was officially the strangest he'd seen.

"Whatever," Lockdown huffed, "Why are you running with Predas? You're a vehicle mode!"

"Why do I have to be the same as them to be around them? Spade is my mentor. Not many vehi-mode medics are willing to fix Predas and no self-respecting healer would fix on vehicle-alts. I wouldn't mind learning both fields. And genocide makes strange berthfellows. Autobots took out my clan and their steeljaws got Spade's mate and sparklings. You might want to watch your pet around her… So yeah, I think that's it. Sit down, be quiet, do what you're told, and this should blow over nicely. Oh, and you, Praxian, watch out for this femme named Rave."

When Prowl finally spoke he sounded distracted. "May I ask why?"

"Severe doorwing fetish, don't listen to anything she says. You have freakishly large wings, I bet your comms never drop."

The Praxian grunted.

"I'd be more worried if I were you," she effortlessly managed to hoist herself up to Prowl's new bunk. "You're not getting sick, are you?"

The black and gold certainly looked it. Usually after an insult he'd be raring for a verbal fight. Right now he looked like he was suffering from his first syk trip.

Prowl scratched at his spark, "No, it feels like someone's trying to kick my chassis in."

She pushed him flat on his back and forced him still. From Lockdown's experience this would be when a medic pulled out their scanner or began scanning with their optics. Arcee never did either of those. After a nano she only sat back confused, "Huh…you don't have any relatives trying to get in touch with you, right?"

"I don't think I have any that don't want me dead."

If realization were a knife, it would have gotten Lockdown right between the optics. Forget her being a possibly crazy medic, she knew something was wrong. He shifted uncomfortably. Jazz hadn't…that idiot couldn't have tried to launch a bond... Nope, he was keeping his mouth shut, "So you were saying something about being low key?"

Arcee tapped her chin, "Oh yeah. Vehicle modes kidnap Predas, Predas kidnap vehicle modes. It's a vicious cycle. Bobtail's pack treats me better than most, why fix what isn't broken? I'm sure you'll learn to like it."

Hearing the felid-build's name again set him on edge. So that _had_ been him they saw in the alley. "Learn?"

She allowed Prowl back up. "You really think Ramshackle offered you in out of the goodness of his spark? There's not that much good left in the world. He was going to sell you three. If it's any consolation, you're damaged goods with the infection and all. Spade called first pick. Pack life isn't so bad."

"You can't just keep us here," he growled.

There was a nano of motion and she was perched at the edge of his berth, looming over him with an unhinged look in her optics. Had she _jumped?_

Arcee didn't give him time to sort it out.

"Try to escape, then. I never _said_ I was like you three and Ramshackle. Since we're going to be together for a while you might as well know, it'll make my job easier: I'm a Terrorcon. Set one ped outside this building and you may be missing a few pieces, _if_ you come back at all."

Lockdown blink dumbly, made brief optic contact with Prowl, and they both erupted in laughter.

"Really, Pinky? That's adorable. And I'm the next Magnus."

The poor thing looked so lost. They'd probably messed with her processor some sort of way. Anyway, it felt good to laugh after her weird leap to the truth of what was ailing Prowl, so he'd humor her.

"I don't know if they told yam, but Terrors are extinct. You're funny, you can join up with us if you'd like. We need a medic—"

His intake hitched against his will, as if some visceral fear was choking him.

Arcee sat, unmoving, "I'm glad you two think it's funny. I wouldn't joke about something so serious."

Lockdown fully intended to move away, or at least say something, but he was frozen. That explanation made too much sense. Terrorcons had a certain EM about them that caused a panic response in any other Transformer among other nasty surprises. It just had to be the one thing he hadn't wanted to run into. By now Prowl had sobered and was watching her like a hawk.

She waited twelve endless kliks before backing off. Whatever EM field she had retracted and, seeing she'd made her point, the femme dropped back to ground level. "Relax, I don't eat sentients anymore and I told you what you have to do to be safe. We're going to be getting very familiar with each other so I might as well be honest. It's an important key to teamwork." And on that final word those yellow orbs locked on to his.

Holy frag, she knew.

"I have to talk to you in private, Lockdown." She continued, "If you were infected symptoms would have shown up by now. The virus is probably energon borne. Go to the bar, there's a Preda named Cipher, ask him about the rotational cycle of Epsilon-5."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Arcee watched the green mech go, spark monitoring optics not finding what she sought. Spade passed on what she'd found in the multicolored youngling, more viruses and wounded coding than a thrice plagued turbofox, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. It was disconcerting a _Spec Ops_ trainee had been brought down but… she assumed Shockwave knew what he was doing. These three were just unfortunate enough to land in the crosshairs of both the Decepticon and the Predaconian factions.

She toyed with one of his audio horns. He was an adorable kid, no wonder he got away with so much. Looking at him, her processor got those weird flashes of déjà vu —the happy kind. She seriously wouldn't mind keeping him for herself…

"There's no such thing as Epsilon-5."

She glanced back up at that poor Praxian, spark pitted with inactive bonds all over it with no outgoing ones. "No, there isn't."

"And you were bluffing about the Terrorcon thing."

"Whatever makes you the happiest."

"So that's a yes?"

He showed a burning curiosity that shoved away any ill effects of not being wanted in a fresh bond. Good he had experience with rejection and virtually none with legendary Cybertronians...or tact.

"Can you show me your true form?"

"On one condition," she rapped a digit against his chestplates, "Open up."

"No way!"

"Then you're not seeing what I really look like, anyway, it is rude to ask. I wanted Lockdown out of here for privacy." She canted her helm. "You have no bonds—at all."

He sat back, befuddled, "You can tell that at a glance with no scanner?"

Arcee nodded, "Helps me decide who not to eat, but I need an answer."

He had the gall not to look sheepish. In fact, he acted like she'd pointed out he had a scratch on his paintjob. "It's been that way for a long while."

Up until recently, that was. Through her optics she saw a spidering, white line reaching out into space, splitting in two directions, and anchoring itself beneath where he sat. If he hadn't brought this up at first and he didn't have any experience with a live bond…he didn't know what to look out for.

"What's wrong with me this time?"

She offered a non-predatory smile. "Nothing serious, kid. You're not sick, just out of the ordinary. I need to check something. You take it easy up there."

He seemed to take that advice and Arcee hovered over Jazz. Again, the steeljaw pup snarled, nestling its pudgy frame over her owner's neckcables. "I don't want you, pup," she snapped. Arcee ran optics over the youngling and found confirmed what she feared. He had a connection to the Praxian, recently formed and frail but there—and the more prominent bond wasn't happy. That same opposing ran on the same frequency as the spark beneath her.

Twins.

Jazz had been trying disconnect from his own twin while seeking out a replacement for him. It wasn't lethal to do so, but it was _**highly**_ unusual... You didn't just abandon your twin—and someone who knew you wouldn't just _not_ notice someone withdrawing from a bond. "Lockdown," she mused and drummed her digits on her hip. As the Praxian was bond illiterate, the green mech would know more.

"Prowl, I'm going out."

"Don't eat anyone." He called back sarcastically.

She grit her fangs. One patient sick, one bond scarred beyond recognizing normal cues, and the last was about to wind up with stab marks. She couldn't wait to hear his excuse.

"Hey, LoCkDoWn!"

Her call came partially in Cy-Stan blended with some forgotten cant. In the corner, their Decepticon loaned mech, Overhaul, flinched clearly unused to any type of beast mode in his unit. She was far more tolerant of vehi-modes than Spade would ever be, but they had their hang ups. They were too fast, jumpy, and stupid out of their environment. If they didn't need the numbers she would have complained. Someone had to be cannon fodder.

Somewhere in the dim room Spade sighed, "Tone it down a notch, Halfcut. Remember what build you're working with. No stalking!"

She growled, settling for unsheathing the energon daggers she kept at her hips.

"And no knives!"

Arcee made an intelligible noise before slinging one across the room, narrowly missing Overhaul, "One knife!"

She didn't miss Spade's warning growl as she followed the convict's scent to a dark, dead end hallway with no windows and no outlets to other rooms. Clearly, it was his last location, but he wasn't visible—to the standard optic. Heat vision told a different story. Lockdown was on the floor pressed as far into the wall as he could manage. Fear permeated the air enough to make her thoughtful.

So, she wasn't the subtlest when it came to treating patients—Spade never was—but her abilities made any aggression seem threatening. It was easy pretending to be a vehicle mode in public; being polite and soft-spoken, sinking into the background. When it came to blending Halfcut-the-Terrorcon and Arcee-the-vehicle-mode with non-beast-modes things got complex. The Preda had left her high and dry with the vague advice, _'Discern what is needed in every situation.'_ Spade had a bad habit of hinting at things like a line of ancient text. Maybe she meant not threatening bodily harm to uncooperative, stupid younglings.

So Arcee sat across from said mechling. "You know I really thought most Outliers would be dead by now, didn't they send a purge for you too?"

"Dunno." Came his disembodied voice.

"You aren't fooling me with that trick—"

"Was there something you wanted, Terrorcon?" he bit out.

Arcee bit her glossa, pain reminding her to wait the conversation out. "You knew Jazz was working on severing ties with his twin. That's serious business and you picked now for a road trip?"

"That's their problem." He flickered back into existence. "I've got enough of my own. I'd help if I could, but I can't. I can't stand him and I'm never letting anyone back in my helm. Nobody's going to replace Tsui."

Something dark rolled off his field like contaminated oil and he paused in a way that sounded painful. Great, this one had underlying issues…that was always such a joy to work with.

Arcee leaned back, "Yannow…even Predas are sworn to medical confidentiality, whatever is wrong with you, I won't tell anybody."

"If you do there won't be anywhere you can hide," he sneered, vocalizer doing that weird reset again. "You said Terrors were caught up in a purge and you're probably the only one left in this sector so you know the feeling. You like waking up with holes in your spark and phantom pains? Or knowing your twin's death could have been prevented if one of the medics wasn't saving vaccines for high-cates?"

The excess kibble on her back flattened. "Slag…what virus?"

"N-3. She wasn't very strong to begin with; the overheating took her out."

He was living with half a spark and all the misery. In times like these she was grateful she didn't remember the source of her pain. Arcee let out a dismissive vent, "Yeah, I get it. Not the twin part, but yeah. That's the beauty of reformatting, you don't remember anything, all that's left is blurs and pain."

It got quiet and her spark attempted to remember why it ached sometimes only for the signals that would result in memory to be punted to the corner.

She sat up straighter, "You weren't being funny when you asked me to join you three, were you?"

Red optics stayed focused on the floor, "Nah. Tsui wasn't my only sister…we had a big family unit and I was the only mechling, it's not fun for femmes out there."

It went without saying she could protect herself, but she didn't want to derail their progress. "Aren't you a big sweetspark? How did someone like you ever consider joining the Cons?"

Now he bristled, "I didn't. I'm sick of being told what to do, I'm off this planet. But I wouldn't mind seeing a few Autobot helms roll before we go."

She clapped him on the shoulder, "Oh, we're gonna get along _great_ … Bobtail said you three should be easy to sway. How's this? You stick around with us for a while and I'll get Jazz up and running ahead of schedule. If anyone asks you were swayed by my good looks."

"That's hilarious."

"Ironic coming from the mech with Taigu markings on his faceplate, they were first Terrorcon clan."

"Wait…you're serious?"

Arcee relaxed into the type of joking around that relaxed everyone. Everything was going great, they had three new empathizers, she used her words instead of her knives…And then Prowl came around the corner and punched Lockdown in the face.


	18. 18 Beacon

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Death, implied torture_

" **Beacon"**

* * *

 **A Few Kliks Before The Punch**

Prowl had finally caught Jazz's syndrome.

Just sitting around doing nothing was getting to him. Thankfully, whatever was wrong inside of him subsided to a dull roar and focusing on other things was easier. Sitting up, he leaned over his datapad in earnest. The second he made it to Praxus he was going to clean out his old room. That was if they didn't have a price on their helms… Now that he stopped to think about it, this whole scenario was strange. His sire would have been on high alert if he knew he'd escaped, even more so if he was in the area. Normally Cabal kept better tabs than that.

Out of curiosity, Prowl searched his designation under The Center's records and it immediately came up under 'Deceased'. Digits froze as he read through the brief statement: _"Sustained internal injuries during inmate riot. Died of antiesthetic overdose during emergency surgery."_ Whoever wrote that hadn't even bothered to skim his file. None of this was right… he was right here! And Jazz and Lockdown… A quick search of their designations listed them both as lost in transfer to another district as recently as a few orns ago.

Like molten slag the reason why everything was so puzzling sank into his core. Jazz's vagueness, Lockdown being eternally irritable about nothing, Jazz disappearing, him dropping into stasis in Miz, and the fact the alleged riot and offlining took place on that same lunar cycle.

The mechling he'd begrudgingly accepted as a friend had been paid to kill him.

Looking back, it was painfully obvious. They didn't really need him. If anything, he was an excuse, something to be disposed of. What kind of sick game were they playing?!

Prowl leapt down without a second glance at the Polyhexian. There wasn't any honor in attacking someone incapacitated, but Lockdown wasn't. He found his way through the building, back to the main bar, only to find there were more guests. It was mostly Predacons, a saurian build, Bobtail, Spade, and only two vehis, a tawny mech and a red and black femme. Prowl heard the wolf-femme warn him against walking past them, but he kept going, just in time to deck Lockdown in the faceplates.

Prowl straightened, cracking his knuckles back into alignment. "When exactly were you planning on telling me I'm supposed to be dead?!"

Judging by the way Lockdown stiffened the punch startled him but didn't do nearly the amount of damage he hoped. Well, he had been the one that got nailed by a semi and walked away dizzy. Lockdown took his time in recovering. He bent his derma piercing back into place and glossa darted out to stem the flow of energon seeping from his olfactory, all the while keeping optic contact. He finally stood, neck popping slightly, "Right about now, I guess."

In one spin he had him against the wall, the side of the green mech's arm catching him in the neckcables, brutally pinning him against the wall with enough force to make the trainee medic flinch. "Calm down before you hurt yourself." Lockdown rumbled.

"Why should I?! You guys tricked me!"

Behind Prowl, his left wing-joint snapped as he was forced flush against the surface.

Lockdown leaned closer so no one else could hear. "Yes, we did, because your sire pays well. We got out of The Center if Jazz killed you somewhere along the way. Why are so mad? You knew who we were from the start. If it were me personally, you wouldn't have made it out of the Ferrin Depths, but here we are."

"This isn't some game!" Prowl squeaked out.

"Nah, it's not. Remember that Praxian that just loved your paint job, thought the world of ya? His designation was Ersatz. He took your place. So, live each cycle as if it's your last, because it almost was."

Prowl's processor went back to the same mechling he'd only viewed as a passing irritant. He'd killed him… "Why—"

"I'm _not_ a courier. You ask Jazz yourself and I hope he doesn't get the same greeting I did. He trusts you."

Lockdown finally let him go, leaving him alone with the alleged Terrorcon and his invasive thoughts. That was until an invasive sensation of a different kind came in the form of Arcee's digits stabbing into his back.

He bristled, "A little warning would be nice!"

"Ditto," she muttered, wasting no time in assessing his injury, "Joy, your wing is clean busted."

"Really?! That's news to me," he sneered, finally storming off.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Anything else she might've yelled was cut off by him turning a corner. He didn't stop until he'd slammed the door to the roof.

Outside a tawny newbuild flinched at the sudden noise. "Why is it every time I want some peace and quiet…Oh it's just you."

That was the nicest thing he'd heard all cycle. He ignored the other 'former in favor of butting his helm against the guardrail. His doorwing throbbed in protest and he moved it within sight, that stupid piercing still impaling it. He had half a mind to rip it out. Instead he deadened the sensors and accepted his circumstances. Surrounded by the same 'formers he'd been cautioned to avoid, in league with the same 'formers hired to kill him. Things couldn't get much worse.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **Decepticon HQ, Kaon**

The air was sparked with anticipation. Destruction should have been on everyone's processor. It was the furthest thing from Blackout's. It had been a megacycle since Lightfire's last comm, highly unusual for his mate. In the last few kilks she'd even deadened her bond to both he and Goldbug. The massive chopper was done waiting.

He entered their sector on a mission and quickly located his circuit-brother. "You haven't seen Lightfire around, have you?"

Soundwave looked up. "No. It seems…out of character for her not to have made contact with anyone. We don't have much time until the strike."

"A cycle is long enough."

The dark mech responded with silence.

"I'm worried for her. Will you bridge me out?"

Soundwave's frame shifted begrudgingly, the only outward sign he disagreed, before spawning a portal. "I'll give you five joors then you're back. Hurry."

On the other side of the portal Lightfire's apartment waited. All seemed normal enough in the dark apartment. Everything was neat and in order but this strange sense of wrong permeated the air. Even Deadlock didn't come back from his missions reeking like that.

"I figured it would only be a matter of time before you showed again."

The voice shattered his thoughts and burned the energon running through his lines. A white and black Praxian leaned casually nearby, icy blue optics at a dim glow. Cabal.

The chief of this city-state's chief was here—in his mate's flat. A new sense of urgency came over him and he mustered a throaty growl, "What are you doing here."

Cabal gave him an indifferent gaze, "Spare me the dramatics. I know what Megatronus plans to do in Praxus…a show of force. A limited siege to show our city state can be breeched. What if I helped you out? A bomb in the right place would pin Decepticons as enemy number one and you still get your destruction, everyone wins."

Blackout reared back. "There's no honor in a bomb—you'd do this to your own?"

"I don't think you know how badly I want the Decepticons extinct. It's my duty. If you haven't noticed, Cybertron's been a little tense lately. All it would take is one little spark and you'd be exposed for what you really are: a horde of thugs and terrorists."

The chopper noted the deep, orange tinted scrape marks running up his forearm as Cabal continued.

"I'm here tying up loose ends. Thought I'd make this one a personal call since you in particular seem to take pride in destroying the peace here. I hear many things. You picked an excellent informant by the way. A courier, small, insignificant—" he stepped out of the way smoothly, revealing a limp, violated dusky Praxian frame. "Disposable."

Blackout's spark twisted, "What did you do?!"

He never answered him directly, "You actually cared for her? My mistake, I would have left out a bond block. She wasn't much fun or even very helpful, she kept screaming for someone named Blackout. You must be him." He carelessly sauntered closer to the stunned chopper, "No matter. And I wouldn't try leaving. Warp fields are blocked and the area's surrounded."

"Then you obviously don't know me…" Blackout's optics flashed in rage just as the entire city-state went an inky dark, bathing it in a disorienting EMP backwash. Cabal was unprepared for it—and the six blades slicing through his chassis. Hateful red optics illuminated the Praxians face as he breathed his last, "Scum."

Suddenly, a bright flash from the city-state's center erupted taking out several city blocks along the way. He let the grey frame, both halves of it, crash to the floor as chaos erupted outside. He stayed just long enough to find parts of a detonator that had been entwined in Cabal's arm, rigged to go at his command—or lack of spark signature. The chopper tucked his rotor blades close to his back and carefully gathered his deceased mate into his arms.

 _:: Soundwave…we've got a situation. ::_


	19. 19 Blaze

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Death_

" **Blaze"**

 **Back In Uraya**

"And that's how I found out Helexians have a strange definition of personal space."

Prowl nodded with more effort than he should've. Overhaul was more than happy to keep up a one-sided conversation just to pass time. He wasn't a bad mech…he did seem to have a fixation with eating though. This was his _fifth_ energon cube. Massive build notwithstanding he should have been full by now.

He swilled down the remains of his ration, eying him thoughtfully, "You okay, mechling? You look like you lost your best friend."

Even Prowl was surprised when he made a sniffling noise.

"Hoy. I've seen worse viruses in Dead End, your buddy will be fine."

Prowl seriously thought about mentioning what was going on. This mech was a Decepticon, he knew betrayal, but against that his problems were nothing. He was nothing.

"Thanks," he mumbled, "You. Ah—I mean he's not really..."

"Spit it out," Overhaul chided.

"You have any close friends?"

Overhaul bit his empty cube, shards grinding to crystal dust beneath his denta. "Friends, yes. Super close? No. We do favors for each other and keep an optic out for one another; it's dangerous to get too close. You get burned, yannow. Then again, you'd know that wouldn't you?" He turned partially to the opening roof hatch, "Your buddies are here."

Prowl flinched as Overhaul turned him around. Lockdown and Arcee were just coming up the stairs, the latter not looking happy at all.

"Lock, I really don't think this a good idea."

"Yeah, well he should get over it." Lockdown stopped just in front of him, "You're coming back down, your paint job will make you a target, Spade's orders."

"Let her come up here and get me then," Prowl snapped. No, he wasn't going anywhere, not after Lockdown's confirmation of his worst fears. He was done being used. That anger culminated in a growled, "How do I know you won't kill me this time?"

"You _don't_ ," he boomed, "The only reason you're not dead is because _Jazz_ thought you were useful."

"As you've said. If you want me gone so badly why don't you just do it already?! I'm not stopping you, no one else will! Or are you still hung up about Tsui?"

After that, Lockdown's faceplate hardened to an expressionless mask. Yes, it was a low blow, but he couldn't stop himself. All the tormenting and a play at friendship had only served to lure him into a false sense of security before they killed him. Lockdown deserved it.

"I really would have thought a cold, wannabe bounty hunter would have better sense than to dwell on something so pointless," he mocked.

The flame printed mech's servos hung loose, probably giving that encouragement to shoot him some serious thought. Good. He was ready. "You don't know what happened."

Prowl gave a cruel smirk, "Do I have to? You saw one grey frame and whimped out permanently. You're a sick glitch that's all talk and no action." He bared his denta, "You're weak."

A fist smashed into the side of his faceplate with the force of a freight tram, sending the world white. That wasn't what he wanted…or needed. Nausea swirled in his tanks.

When his vision finally returned a bipedal form sat crouched over him. A smooth, almost saurian faceplate and pale frame streaked with pink markings loomed large complete with an angry whipping tail. Clenched fangs and short talons on both peds and claws promised a painful end. And it sounded like Arcee. It seemed she hadn't been bluffing.

"Mute it, you pretentious little mid-caste. I don't know what your damage is but down here that tone will get you **killed**.  Caste doesn't mean squat with Predas it's all about size and intimidation. My buddies out there could use you as a denta-pick and your old mech ain't exactly the nicest thing on the planet. But I guess you'd know that pretty well," her talons dug into his shoulders as she continued.

"I'm trying to be nice. I want to be nice. You know? That thing where you're polite to the person trying to fix you? Stop infighting. I'm responsible for your wellbeing. If you're going to worry about anyone killing you, maybe factor the stressed out 'cannibal' in, hmm?"

Prowl didn't budge. His mind had gone completely blank and he managed only a brief look at the other two. Overhaul was backed up against the railing, mouth catching flies. Lockdown's servo stayed frozen in place with some bizarre looking knife/brass knuckle combo jutting out of his knuckles, that blank look still marring his face.

Arcee then proceeded to sit on his tank, EM swirling to a sickening peak. "So, should I be worried about you two fighting— Wait, excuse me, you getting beat up again? What are you gonna do next time, take that pole outta your aft and beat 'em with it?" She stood, dragging him up with one servo. "You will not fight again, either of you, or you'll answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"

The catatonic state lifted and Prowl attempted to say yes, but spilled energon dribbled out. He'd bit his glossa and his jaw felt like it was broken.

She dropped him without mercy, claws lengthening dramatically, _"I can't_ _ **hear**_ _you."_

"Arcee…" Lockdown growled lowly from somewhere behind her, "Enough."

Feral yellow optics glinted as she whirled around, "You're welcome. If you're nice, he's all yours for five kliks."

It was some old fear sitting in the pit of Prowl's tanks that finally left him emptying his. He knew his wings were shaking and he looked pathetic but much like words, purge was impossible to take back.

"Slaggit, not again," Lockdown hissed. "The guy purges at the drop of a bolt!"

Prowl didn't expect him to help him up, albeit with his own brand of "gentle". Some paint was scraped off his arm as he wrenched him up and shoved him behind himself.

Meanwhile Arcee stretched nonchalantly, her true frame folding back into its disguise with revolting organic, liquid motions. "Toughen up, will you?"

Lockdown's EM prickled aggressively, "He's a hot mess with baggage and a bad jaw that you just hit him in! You know that! What kind of medic are you?!"

She backed away, deciding to circle around to better assess them. "I don't get paid enough to be pleasant all the time. Matter of fact, I don't get paid at all. I forget vehicle modes are so delicate. On a good day, I deal with protoform lacerations and mauled limbs. That punch was like a love bite!"

Prowl cringed, it didn't feel like anything of the sort. Not that he'd ever know though.

"Just. Fix. Him!" Lockdown barked taking a threating step forward.

The femme's kibble rippled in warning and she scanned the Praxian from afar. "Your jaw is not broken, but it'll hurt for a while—you deserve it, big mouth. You have a lot of old wounds, you know that?"

The green and black mech blocked her view of him, " _Thank you._ You've done enough."

Arcee poked her lower derma out, "Mixed signals much?! I thought you wanted him hurt?"

"Look, you're not in this, leave him alone," he warned.

"You have a weird pack dynamic…" she crept closer again, getting his shuddering frame back in her sights.

"Imfine," Prowl rushed, righting himself. "I'm fine, just…stop. Go away."

The Terrorcon instead followed him to the railing at the edge of the building. "You're showing signs of a _panic attack_. You're not fine."

"You don't know."

"I can smell fear."

He stuck his helm into his arms and sucked a deep draft of air into his vents. Beast modes looked for the weakest point on a 'former; he couldn't get mad. To jump into a fight like that, she and Lockdown must have come to some understanding or she was tired of breaking up spats. It was probably the last one, medics tended to become foul-tempered, no matter the build. He wasn't going to panic. It was just…last time he'd gotten caught in his jaw he'd nearly died.

Prowl felt a digit prod his helm; Arcee hadn't lost interest in tormenting him just yet.

"Hey, you don't have any attachment to Praxus do you?"

"That's my home state…why?"

Arcee hesitated, "No reason, let's go, Spade is pissed."

She dragged him from the edge, keeping his helm down, but out of the corner of one optic he saw smoke. "What's that?"

"Nothing! Let's go!"

Prowl glanced back over his shoulder and froze. Below them, red fire bloomed from the center of the massive city-state, the air above beginning to choke with dark clouds of smoke. Dimly, he heard Spade and Bobtail join them on the roof.

No. No, this wasn't happening.

There was a distant screech of flier engines and the wolf femme urged them back to the hatch.

Prowl lingered, still not believing what his optics said was true. Lockdown finally dragged him away. "Prowls, come on, there's nothing you can do."

Back at ground level, he didn't have time to collect himself. They were herded back into their storage closet, left watching as Spade began injecting a cocktail of stimulants into Jazz.

Her short, blade-like audios twitched at every sound coming from the outside eventually folding flat. "Halfcut, give him that dose of nitro. He needs to be up NOW, we have to move."

Arcee hesitated with the grey tinted syringe, "Are you sure—?"

Spade's glare boded no room for argument and she added the final component to jumpstart his frame. When Jazz began to stir, the lupine femme backed off, mindful of the door. "Halfcut, listen to me, this is it. You're close. Now prove to me you can provide comfort and be both medic and warrior. When we next meet, you'll be working on your own."

Prowl supposed this was a touching moment, she'd been under Spade's tutelage a long time. But his mind was in a million pieces. Despite the terror that possessed him, or maybe because of it, the Praxian let out a slightly hysterical snort. "She's about as comforting as a semi-automatic blaster."

"I'll bust your other—" Arcee cut off the threat with a growl from her mentor.

"You'll never be able to face what's to come if you can't limit yourself now," she met each 'formers optics, "You four have the makings of a capable pack, use it wisely."

Jazz finally let out the most miserable whine Prowl had ever heard before he rolled over and retched. It wasn't doing any good, his tanks were dry. The femme-wolf canted her helm as if putting pieces of a puzzle together before she stalked off, "Rise, youngling, it's time to go."

"Goawhaaay…"

Arcee then tugged on one of his audio horns, eliciting an immediate response of flailing around.

He scrubbed at his faceplate, clearly not alert. "Who are you?"

"A friend," she blurted, "You're still at Ramshackle's; you got sick."

Some of his old self returned as he propped himself up, visor flickering then brightening once he fully saw her. He sized her up with clear suspicion, "You're a medic?"

"Yes, any discomfort, odd messages?"

"I feel like slag warmed over and like someone dumped scraplets in my lines."

Getting the answer she needed, Arcee started an inventory of her subspace, "Good. You're going to be weak for a good while. We had to get you up before your systems completely reset," she paused for a klik, "Praxus is on fire."

Prowl felt his gaze immediately land on him.

"'M sorry, mech."

He was still sticking to his act so well.

When he didn't answer Jazz seemed to zone out for a klik, answering a comm before he nearly fell from the berth trying to get up, "Slaggit! The Cons set off a bomb in Praxus!"

"Uh, nah," Overhaul leaned in through the door way, still wary of getting too close to the Terrorcon. "That wasn't us."

The Polyhexian bristled at the new face, "Ah got a contact that says otherwise."

"Well, they're _wrong,"_ the young mech growled, "Pax would never allow it!"

Jazz made a derisive noise and eased himself to his peds, aiming a grin his way. "Moron, amiright? Let's go kick some tailpipe."

Prowl didn't have the energy to put up with this anymore. He shrugged and ducked out without a word.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Jazz frowned, watching the oversized retreating doorwings. His processor was still fuzzy and laggy but he was positive he hadn't said anything wrong.

Lockdown's heavy servo clapped his shoulder, "He figured it out."

The Polyhexian growled.

"On his own," the green mech amended, "He's still pretty steamed about it."

"As most normal people would be…weirdos," she snorted. "You shouldn't play with your food and you shouldn't be feeling that sick already." Arcee ventured, "Prowl just purged. I'm willing to put credits up that you didn't tell him you're forming a bond?"

Scrap.

He knew the fever was still affecting him when he let an "Already…?" slip. Forming a bond had been intentional, but he hadn't intended for it to be revealed this way—or at all. Some part of him was sure Prowl would remain oblivious and never question it, ironically that was the same part that said everything was going to be okay.

He hesitantly reached out to Stepper. **~ What did yah do to him? ~**

 **~ Nothin' yet. ~** his twin hissed back with a venomous edge. Stepp had a right to be mad, it wasn't a pleasant experience to find an unwanted 'former in your bond.

 **~ I didn't mean to leave it open… ~**

 **~ Just** _ **save it.**_ **We're on assignment. ~** Stepper then shut him out with the bond equivalent of a slamming door.

For a few nanos he stood with his mouth open, before the pink femme got his attention with a nudge to the forehelm. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yeah… my twin's pissed…who are you anyway?"

"Arcee."

He'd never heard that designation before, but he knew his sire warned against 'formers like her. An alert flashed at the corner of his HUD prompting him to say, "I thought Terrorcons were extinct?"

The extra parts of her frame disguised as vehi-mode kibble flared, "How'd you—"

"I'm Spec Ops, we're ready for anything. So, whose pack are we with?"

She gave him a onceover before deciding not to eat him and steered him out the door, "Bobtail's. You've been inducted and there's a riot brewing outside."

" _Oh great…_ " What had they gotten themselves into? At his peds, Flamewar barked happily, begging to be picked up. Jazz hazarded kneeling down to gather her up. "Good to see you too, Flame. At least somebody's happy tah see meh."

"I'm kinda glad you're not dead." Lockdown conceded brusquely.

He took another risk in turning around with a sarcastic sneer, "Aw, you do care!" Distracted as he was, he nearly walked into Bobtail, who easily stopped him with a clawed digit.

"Well, look who's awake; it's the Preda-whisperer!"

That roused quite a few chuckles from the crowded club. Judging from Lockdown and Prowl's reactions they hadn't been here before, or at least at first. The felid mech, barely taller than Lockdown ushered them to the floor's center, his presence creating silence for both vehicle and beast mode.

"Good to see you're still in the land of the living," he lifted his chin accenting his long audioed helm, "You don't seem like the kind to seek out our type of trouble… You didn't come here with the intention of joining us, did you? You three are still trying to get to Iacon, yes?"

They quietly affirmed this.

"I don't like to keep 'formers against their will. If you wish to go, go. No one here will stop you."

Lockdown spoke up. "I thought you needed more pack members? That's what Spade and Arcee said."

"Yes, but if you don't want to fight alongside us and take orders you're of no use to me. Though I wouldn't object to working together in the future."

"I don't believe it," Prowl shot bluntly, "You save us from getting sold, fixed Jazz, and kept us hidden here. What do you want?"

Spade chuckled cruelly, "Call it an advance penance, my good deed for the orn. You would rather die in a shower of energon and gore for the vengeance of a build's pain you have never known?"

The Praxian cowed into silence.

Lockdown took stock of the situation and nodded, "Well, we're out of here but I'm not against killing a few 'Bots before I go." That roused several shouts of encouragement that had Jazz's still adjusting sensors ringing.

Ever the stickler Prowl hissed, "That's treason."

"Then they should have thought about the consequences of letting innocents die. You don't want to stay here either," Lockdown spat.

Still not willing to let it go Prowl argued, "There's got to be another way besides killing—"

"We've past that point," Spade snapped, "You don't have the bloodlust in you, you'd best leave now _little Enforcer_."

Jazz stiffened. The way she said it garnered a smirk from Ramshackle and created a chill down his own backstruts. They weren't above taking their anger out on anyone associated with Cybertronian law enforcement. He stupidly attempted to ask why they'd let Prowl be for so long but Lockdown abruptly elbowed him in the gut.

"We're done here, can we go?"

Bobtail nodded, "Very well, the streets have been shut down, Halfcut will show you the way out of Uraya. Overhaul, Rave, and Belloc will accompany you. Good travels."

Outside, Jazz pushed his aching frame to the limit to keep up with the Terrorcon. There was still something not sitting right with him about how things had gone and it wasn't just his feverish condition. He managed to match the Terrorcon's pace, "That was weird, huh?"

She smiled gently, slowing down to make it easier on him, "Bobtail is a just alpha… though I don't understand him sometimes."

A red and black femme came _skipping_ down the street close to Arcee. "Um, escort these guys outa heres, then come home. Simple, Halfy."

Arcee hissed, " _Don't call me that, Rave._ "

The femme drew out a sigh, dropping back to the others. Prowl was the next victim as she allowed her weight to lean on his shoulder still keeping that overly bright tone. "She's soooo meeeeannn. You aren't like that are you?"

"Worse." Prowl deadpanned darting back to wedge himself between Overhaul and Lockdown.

Rave made a sparkling-esque face before she glared at Arcee. The large saurian 'former he assumed was called Belloc seemed to know what was going on and let out a low, raspy laugh. That gave him a small insight on who he was dealing with.

"Good to know we're funny, then," Jazz commented just before one leg gave out and he fell, barely avoiding crushing Flamewar. His frame clattered to the ground and the steeljaw yelped in surprise.

"Keep it down!" Belloc growled, optics sweeping the area.

Jazz struggled to pull himself upright and only to clatter back down. His frame got hit by a wave of heat. "Don't leave—I can—"

Like it was second nature, Prowl and Lockdown dragged him up, keeping him balanced between them.

"Say something, will you?" the flame printed mech grouched, "Your systems aren't up to part yet. Take it easy."

In the intervening time, Prowl's frame stiffened as he looked around, "Uh, guys, where'd they go?"

Sure enough, all four of their new accomplices had gone without a trace. They'd left them exposed on a deserted sidewalk. And then there were voices and the sound of running. Jazz swore under his ventilations just as one enforcer slid into view.

"I thought I heard something!"

They froze as an Enforcer approached them in a scolding huff, "What are you three doing out here? There's a curfew!"

Prowl scrambled for an excuse, wings tucked in submission as he spun another fantastical lie. Jazz could admire that in the straight-laced mechling but thinking about why he was so good at it just made him uncomfortable all over again. The feeling only intensified when he remembered what they had yet to discuss. He took his mind off it by focusing in on the lie weaving.

"So, we're trying to get home, our friend's just getting over a virus—"

A blur of russet armor leapt out from behind a building, tackling the Enforcer in a flash of fangs and energon. The mauling was efficiently brief. Spade looked up, brown optics glittering in wolf mode, helm dipping in a show of thanks before she attacked the next mech. Something clicked for Jazz in that moment. Most Predas caught members of a group as bait, wounded them, and left them out in the open in order to lure a target to one place. His tank dropped. They couldn't have been more convenient to the den of Predas if they'd come giftwrapped.

Everything went to chaos after that. There were more Decepticon sympathizers hiding in Uraya than he would have ever thought. The world blurred into ridiculous patterns and Lockdown yelled something followed by an incredibly powerful heated force. Prowl _moved_ , dragging them through the madness before he slid into a transport stop, basically a reinforced shanty by this point, before finally lowering him to the ground.

"And that's why you don't trust strangers," Prowl ground out, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Jazz hid a flinch at the steel in his voice, "Nah. Just can't move my legs."

The Praxian spared a glance outside. "Get armed, we'll be here for—Lockdown!"

"I'm fine!" He snarled, but he wasn't fine. His right arm was gone below the elbow, half cauterized by the blast, dribbling cyan, and in a rare show of emotion he was trying not click.

"Say something will you?!" Prowl said, throwing his own words back at him.

"Oh like 'Hey, I think I lost my arm'?" he gestured wildly sending fluids spraying, "I spent a lot of time on that arm! We gotta go get it."

"Idiot!" The Praxian forced him down and began soldering lines shut back together with the heat of his pistol.

Before too long, Arcee came rushing in with the rest of her crew fresh on her heels. "You three made it— _what happened to your arm_?! Prowl, **move** you're taking too long."

He obeyed but his good wing fanned out in a challenge, "You only wanted us as bait."

"Calm down, everyone here has been used, but you three…" she looked up smiling, "Have no loyalties and that's worth more than any frame changing trick. It's a double-edged sword, yeah, but worth the risk. Thank you."

Jazz watched Rave hang around the entrance, constantly checking for anything coming. The roar of combat went past the point of being unbearable, peaking along with the stench of spilled energon. Jazz tuned out everything and put his helm down as the throbbing in it intensified. He drifted off into a semi-awake state that was turning into partial stasis. Sometime later, a needle worked its way beneath his side plating, dumping more stimulant into his system to keep him alert. He wished Arcee would stop, he just wanted to recharge. He reached out tentatively, seeking comfort from Stepper. His other half didn't respond. Repeatedly, he prodded until the cold burn of a dead bond greeted his spark.

Even the stimulant running through his lines wasn't enough to keep him awake.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Prowl dropped his pistol, arm breaking into violent tremors. He got a terrible pain in his spark followed by a panicking sensation. The Praxian leaned backwards and sat hard. He was scared, but not to this degree… Then he saw the look Arcee and Lockdown traded; a mix of knowing and some painful empathy. They both knew exactly why he was feeling so strange.

"Sit this one out…" the green mech suggested, "It'll all be over soon."


	20. Burnt

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _…typical mayhem, Arcee gives questionable life-advice_

" **Burnt** **"**

 **~ Back In Kaon ~**

The spymaster perked moderately as Blackout finally made his appearance from the depths of his portal. He'd taken long enough.

"So? Did you find—" Soundwave trailed off as he plodded through, armor pockmarked by bullet dents and burns, carrying an offline Lightfire.

Blackout went off without a word trailing soot all the way to one of the furthest storage rooms. He laid the Praxian's greyed frame on one slab, helm bent. Judging from her condition, terrible things had been done to her for an extended period of time. Soundwave cringed inwardly. As much as he didn't approve of the femme she hadn't deserved violation.

After sometime, Blackout finally spoke. "Praxus is on fire. Tell Megatronus there's been a change in plans, Cabal knew. He had framed the Decepticons for the bomb."

"You're using past tense."

Huge servos gripped the edge of the slab to the point of denting, "I killed him and he was rigged to set off the explosion in the event he was prematurely offlined." Blackout said flatly.

Soundwave's visor paled. He could feel the waves of regret rolling off his circuit-brother, "Are you—alright?"

"I will be…it's just…I couldn't save her. What am I going to tell Goldbug?"

The spymaster empathized with his fellow symbiont, "I understand you wanting to care for him, it's only natural. He'll never survive an outright war, though."

"He has us," Blackout pressed, "And we could always upgrade him early."

It was then Soundwave put his ped down. He was done conceding. Lenience got them into this mess and he was going to get them out. He wouldn't allow Blackout to damage himself further. Megatronus had trusted them to remain focused and, so close to the endgame, that's exactly what they'd be.

He placed a comforting servo on his shoulder, "I'll help you fix this."

"How?"

A tentacle dislodged from his chest suddenly, catching Blackout in the back of the helm unawares, darkening his optics and deactivating Scorponok on his back. "Like this."

Soundwave let his circuit-brother down gently, settling his massive bulk against the wall. It took no time to help him forget and he left the mech to rest in a matter of kliks. Now he only had to find Goldbug.

That proved to be several times as difficult as it normally was. He finally found the sparkling rubbing at his undoubtably numb spark and Gidget digging at a floor level vent with a fury, making Soundwave glad he had the foresight to weld them shut. The turbofox sensed him and snarled, probably smelling his ill intent. She'd seen what he'd done.

Goldbug however was still trusting, coming closer despite the black and white fox barking for him to run. "Wave? I don't feel too good. What's going on?" His doorwings drooped as Soundwave covered his optics.

"I'm so sorry, little one."

Still he wasn't sorry enough to not wipe his memories. He repeated what he'd done with Blackout. The sparkling only seized once before his optics went dark and he slumped.

Gidget then let out a murderous bay as she circled, looking for an opportunity to steal back her charge. She lunged, narrowly missing his connected tentacle. Soundwave's remorse quickly turned to irritation. Leave it to Deadlock to have pets that acted just like him: mindlessly violent. If she'd gotten any closer the connection would be lost along with Goldbug's consciousness.

Soundwave deployed a second tentacle, slamming the fox into unconsciousness against a wall. He deployed Ravage through his own groundbridge several kliks later with the instructions to leave Goldbug somewhere safe. A nano later he was back to coordinating the destruction of the current world order.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **~ Back in Uraya ~**

Arcee could have brushed off the scene before her as a bad memory flux, if she remembered anything fully. True, someone could wipe your processors but the mental sensation never left, your frame remembered. Maybe that was why she was so comfortable stalking through the carnage Uraya was left in.

The expired frames didn't bother her at the moment. What irked her was the fact she couldn't contact Spade or any of Bobtail's pack, besides the one member with her. Arcee finally gave up her solo patrol of the area and slipped back the way she came, taking care to revert back to her bipedal mode. The non-Predas weren't quite ready for that form just yet.

The once transport stop was hidden by rubble and just barely big enough to fit the seven of them, let alone Overhaul's massive bulk. Said mech was tucked in the furthest corner, dozing. The newbies were clumped together along with Rave pining for attention like a— She shook her helm. Spade's last request was that she show comfort and compassion. If that meant ignoring the vehi-mode acting like a she-hound in heat then so be it.

"Belloc?" she called softly.

The burgundy saurian-build raised his crested helm. Like Overhaul, he was relatively new to his frame, just past that awkward crossover period between mech and youngling. He was a dependable 'former, though. She didn't trust anyone else to keep order while she was gone.

He stretched lazily, finally straightening against the caving wall, "'M up. What's it like out there?"

"Smells like death, looks like death," she supplied, "How goes it here?"

Belloc gestured to the three vehicle-modes, "Not much to report, they're still in shock. The green one is having phantom pains in his arm."

"We can't have a cripple now," she remarked with the intent of teasing said cripple.

"I can hear you," Lockdown hissed softly, wary of waking Jazz and the hound.

Arcee smirked. She was actually proud of how well he was taking it. After riding out the firefight his had been the worst injury, everything else was just laser grazes and twisted wires. As a group they'd gotten off easy. This small, two-block area was quiet now; any lingering threats she'd neutralized. The nano the fighting died down they'd make a run for anywhere but here. That gave her plenty of time to fend off future casualties.

Arcee noted Prowl had his back to everyone, repaired doorwing hanging as if it were still broken. _:: What about the doorwinger? ::_ she asked over the comms.

Belloc shrugged, _:: Upset. I can smell it on him from here. Not surprised, probably lost a lot of family. I hear Praxus is half gone in the fighting. ::_

 _:: Then it's only a little better than here, ::_ she stood again, hydraulics clicking wearily.

 _:: You going out again? ::_

 _:: Yeah. If he's going to flip out I rather it not be where we're staying. ::_ At least that was a good part of truth, she had news for the sullen youngling. Arcee forced a look of confidence, _:: We'll be back. No comms on the outside. ::_

She chirruped out loud, knowing the sound would reverberate off his wings. "Hey, Prowl, let's go on patrol."

The doorwinger put up no resistance and followed her outside. He was still a prick but Jazz needed him alive…and it was pathetic to see his face so blank when he'd been ready to tear Lockdown apart just yesterday. Now he was back to being a scrawny Praxian whose best defenses were his words and snark. Arcee refused to feel bad about taking him down several pegs but it spoke volumes about his state of processor that he was so willing to follow her. Spade always said a blank faceplate meant a dying spark.

The femme wolf would know. It had taken so much to stitch something resembling a pack back together. She, Bobtail, and most of their pack were the scattered remnants of purges or 'formers rejected by the public. Bobtail was always lenient with vehicle modes, given the advantage of working with jilted ones. Conversely, given Spade's past with them, she didn't hesitate to dispatch vehis if they showed the slightest bit of treachery. It went without saying they made great co-leaders.

Still, that many conflicting, traumatized personalities floating around meant friction, fights, and a death every few orns. Spade hadn't held back any of the gritty reality of their way of life. Even back at seven vorns, she was often put on the frontlines of it. For Predas, the sooner one came to accept it, the better.

Spade was determined to see her through to adulthood, especially given what might happen to her. It was a common belief that if Cybertron died, Terrorcons would lose what made them sentient, basically turning them into little better than Massicons, and force them to reclaim all life back to the planet's core. Given that Cybertron was acting unusually and there were no other Terrors to ask about the "turning" phenomenon, Spade was pit-bent on saving her. She'd given her alternatives to eating sentients to get the taste from her system and taught her a special brand of healer compassion so she'd have coding to fall back on.

Arcee knew she owed Spade a lot, so taking care of these stragglers wasn't asking much. The Terrorcon just hoped everyone was alright, whatever was going on... In the meantime, she had her own work. Hopefully she'd be able to put Spade's wisdom into practice.

She turned back to Prowl, "Is your tank empty?"

He hadn't changed since the last nano she checked. "I'm low," he deadpanned.

Arcee shoved a bag full of unrefined energon into his servo, "Eat three of them. They take longer to process, you're less likely to cough that back up."

She fully expected a complaint about the taste as he choked down half of one. Vehicle modes hated eating it, some just flat out couldn't process it. Prowl had zero reaction.

They traveled in silence through a far too stagnant Uraya. Thankfully, the Praxian knew how to be quiet. She slipped into an empty hospital, quickly locating the areas they needed to raid. Still he remained silent, only occasionally asking if they needed an item. So, she filled the void.

"I hate these places," she smiled bitterly, "They smell like someone's trying to clean up a huge murder, what about you?"

"It's fine."

Arcee dug into one drawer, purposely allowing her digits to scrape its metal bottom and earn a flinch from Prowl. He wasn't going to give up easily, good thing she could be patient. "I never would have thought a clean cut mechling like you would wind up running with us."

"That makes two of us." He continued dumping supplies into his subspace without any intention of continuing the conversation.

"Lockdown is kinda rough and Jazz…yikes. What made you start hanging out with those two?"

His arm jerked, narrowly missing knocking over several phials. "Nothing."

And there was the sore relay she was looking for. "I can read you like an energon trail. Something is bothering you."

His wings finally pricked in anger, "Why can't you just leave me alone? Frag, all three of you just won't let anything go. You're like vultures, go harass someone else!"

She laughed, the cool sound echoing through the abandoned center with an eerie ring she hadn't intended, "Why? You're fun to mess with. Everyone else has learned to hold it in where it counts. Your frame says 'stoic' but the more worked up you are, your wings say whatever's on your processor. I'm bored. Spill."

"You wanna know why I'm mad?" he snapped, "I'm dead."

"You're the deadest live mech I've ever seen," she remarked drily.

He had the same look her past victims gave her the moment they realized they were dinner. " _No._ Dead in public record. I was listed as offline in Praxus long before the attack. The only way that was possible if someone knew I wasn't going to be coming back. I don't know how I couldn't have seen it before. Jazz was supposed to kill me and instead he killed another Praxian that looked like me."

Arcee hummed. So, they'd come to Ramshackle after an attempted assassination; that explained too much about their all-over-the-place dynamic. She tilted her helm with a bored expression, "Is that so?"

Prowl was too easy to get a rise out of. His wings rotated upward fast enough to nearly snap his new repairs. "Jazz killed someone and he lied! I trusted that creep! If he wasn't on death's door I'd—" What he said next was garbled with static.

"Come again?"

"I thought we were friends," he finally whispered.

She groaned, finally slamming the drawer shut. "First, wipe that coolant out of your optics and _grow up_. What are you, a sparkling? You're not always going to have friends."

"I never really had any," he muttered.

"Why am I not surprised?" Arcee drawled sardonically, "You've got the pleasantness of an acid-dipped flat-cat. Pit of a bunch to start on; you wound up with three crazies."

Prowl locked her with a glacial stare, mood changing in a sparkbeat, "No. Two hoodlums and some sort of prehistoric demon."

So, he hadn't quite gotten over being attacked and subdued. That was normal. But he had the sort of look she was all too familiar with: a 'former held down for far too long, pushed to the brink, and close to snapping. The only difference between his and a Preda's red hot fury was that his glare held cool, clinical detachment. It matched the hospital room perfectly.

"Not to pick at old wounds, but it looks like you're fighting some of your own on the inside," she commented.

His wings lowered to a dangerous angle, "Let me make this clear, Arcee. The next 'former that attacks me is going to die."

It was well known beast-modes liked to torment their victims. The pink femme had every intention of making good on that generalization.

"I'm sooo scared, now why don't I show you what happens when you talk back...," she leered, making for both of her daggers.

A scalpel flew past her helm in a silver blur that she barely dodged, leaving the Terrorcon momentarily stunned. Meanwhile, Prowl's faceplate flickered between horror, remorse, and back to horror. She turned to view the tool embedded in the wall, sensors wary to anymore incoming objects.

"I'm so sorry, I—!"

Arcee waved for silence before she turned back to him, "I'm jealous, you've got **excellent** aim. I didn't think you _could_ fight back. Congrats on having a spinal-strut."

He stood nervously as she approached him, this time with no malice intended. "I get part of why Jazz wants you around."

"I'm not violent, I'm a pacifist…" he hesitated, "At least I try to be."

Prowl flinched as she leveled a pointed digit at his olfactory. "You want to lash out at everything around you so badly its killing you; that's the worst kind of rage. You're one of us."

"I'm not like that," he said firmly, almost like he was convincing himself.

"Oh, but that's the beauty of it," she grinned, "Rage doesn't judge by build or lot in life.

It lives inside everyone and you, my uptight prick, are _hemorrhaging_ it." She locked optics, "The sooner you give in, the sooner we can all get along."

Arcee let her arm drop along with any lingering aggression, "But I didn't drag you here to just to get you all murder crazy. I mean yeah, I wanna hurt you based on your personality alone, but we can't always get what we want. There are more important things out there than getting vengeance and being right."

He had the proper reaction to those intoned last words in the form of a frown and pursed derma.

She in turn, snagged him by the arm and walked him into the hallways. "I'm not a shrink, but you shouldn't get depressed over being betrayed. You knew what Jazz was from the beginning, you Enforcers know all about each other's ranks."

"But—" he stammered.

"Hush. Look around, Prowly. Look at this building, look outside. A lot of people are dead and we almost were. This isn't the time to create divisions."

He waited half a kilk before yanking his arm back growling, "You're one to talk, hypocrite, your pack just murdered Uraya's police force! _You_ kill and eat people!"

Those responses were a strange mix of music and static to her audios. "Yeah, you're right are but something had to change. Whether it was right or not is up to the individual. _And_ I'm a reformed 'former-eater. Most Terrors live off of other 'formers misfortune, but those we take are deserving of death."

"In your optics."

She kept her yellow optics placid, "I do what I was sparked to do and that's an argument for another cycle."

Arcee finally plopped herself on a receptionist's desk, getting the height advantage over him. "Look, I'm not condoning what Jazz did. He took out an innocent, that's wrong. But—you aren't lying dead out there or somewhere else because he decided to not axe you off. He put you ahead of his own twin! That's a high honor for any build. He cares about what happens to you."

She leaned in, "Now listen closely. I can't force you to do anything, but if you ditch him now, it'll _kill him_. He was in the process of deadening the bond with his twin. I'm surprised the family didn't do that sooner given their line of work… but he's all alone now."

This time Prowl knocked over a whole line of datapads and decorations on the neighboring table, looking distressed. "Steppers gone? I just talked to him last cycle!"

Arcee sighed, taking a few kliks to pick through some filed datapads to fill time between words. "Remember when Jazz glitched and you started to lose it? You got that that all-encompassing sense of panic and pain that's not your own? Normal 'formers call that bond severance. He died at that nano. That's why Jazz is out of energy."

The Praxian made as if he were going to sit on the floor, thought the better of sitting on broken glass, and dragged himself onto the same desk, mouth still gaping.

She continued, "He picked you to substitute for Stepper. He trusts you and apparently you trust him, bonds aren't one way."

"I—don't—don't know what to do," he stuttered.

"As your medic I advise you to get your head out of your aft. You aren't the only person you need to worry about anymore. Pay the favor forward and do it for him. When you're hurt and a clanmate brings you prey, you don't ask where it's from; you eat it."

"What if—"

She held up a servo, "Turn off that computer in your helm and listen to your base instincts. You eat it out of respect for their sacrifice even if it's difficult to accept. Once he gets better you can make a final decision, but it's a rare thing to be able to pick your family. Make the best of it and don't be too rash now…."

Arcee leapt off the desk and strode down the hall with concealed glee. Spade would be proud…but what was a pep talk without a little extra mortal terror? "And if you do choose leave, I'll hunt you down, eat you, and feed what's left to Flamewar."

Prowl was properly disgusted but fell deathly silent after that. Life changing revelations tended to do that sort of thing.

They trekked down to the intensive care unit where Arcee immediately set upon a CR tank. Fortunately, the hospital's generators were up and operational. Any staff that would have been there had long fled to other facilities not in the middle of a warzone.

The appearance of medical equipment seemed to revive him, "I thought Lockdown needed a new arm?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Building one will take forever. And rather than harvest an arm, have to revitalize it, then graft it to him, hope his protoform takes to it, and risk infection we'll just make a new one." She used the stairs to get to the top of the tank, producing a silver mass and several phials from subspace, "So we're gonna use smart metal."

She got the predicted response from her audience of one. "Where'd you get that?! That's almost impossible to get a hold of now!"

True. With the planet so screwed up, everyone had switched to using synthetic parts… Well, almost everyone. Arcee beamed, "I have friends in low places. A little piece of the planet for emergencies. Watch me. Here, I have a sample of Lockdown's CNA and growth accelerant. We're gonna edit his data to just to regrow this specific segment and—"

Arcee dove into what knowledge she somehow still retained. The quiet scientific prattle was enough to take both their processors away from the stress.

"You shouldn't be telling me this," Prowl finally mumbled some joors later, half sprawled on a desk.

She'd thought about it a number of times during their conversation. This had gone beyond keeping this knowledge to one build. If she and Spade died someone had to keep it going. "The art of _sentiens cudendum_? Nope. It means death or performing a task for the Dread Alpha. Whatever we do, we can't let them know about it. You're not like other vehicle modes though. You think outside the lines."

"I was always told that was a bad thing."

"To them, maybe," she snapped, anger not aimed at Prowl. "People are stupid herd mechanimals. Once you start questioning their way of life they strap you down and call you crazy so you don't disrupt their order. Anything different is a defect. That's what's wrong with Cybertron now. Changing is in our nature and to retard that growth by forcing someone to grow restricted by caste is more morally wrong than anything any of us will ever do."

"Has anyone ever told you you sound like a propaganda flyer?" he said flatly.

"So, you've read them, you naughty mech!"

He supplied a lame excuse that there wasn't anything else to read that day and rubbed at his overwarm optics. "Does all this repair talk mean you've seen an actual Dread before?"

Arcee eyed the still generating limb. "Thought you didn't believe in that kinda stuff, doorwinger?"

Prowl shrugged, "I'm open to believable things, not sparkling tales."

She smiled bitterly, "Then I have a story for you. This is the low down: Terrors, Predas, and Dreads are all partners in darkness. We might not always see optic to optic but we get along fine with a common goal, just like anyone else. And your answer is no. There was word of fighting in their own ranks, but no one has seen a Dread for ages. If Cybertron's core guardians are in disarray and there's only one of me left, the Predas are all alone in this. There's not much stopping the rest of the planet from falling apart with the Dread."

Prowl leaned forward, processor drowsy and skipping, "You know, Spade was wrong about you needing compassion. It's really nice you're doing this for Lockdown."

Arcee snorted. She liked the freaky parts ghoul, enough not to want to see him suffer, but that was it. They needed able bodies for less casualties. "No, she wasn't. Prowl, something else you should know: no one does anything for pure reasons, not even you and especially not me."

On the neighboring tank she undid a CR fluid line, taking several heavy sips. She looked back to see another disgusted grimace on his faceplates to which she met with a teasing red glossa. "I told you, I don't eat 'formers anymore. It's either higher caliber energon or go back to the dirty alternatives."

Suddenly, pedfalls echoed down the hall and they both froze. A mech medic ghosted through the halls outside their room, optics unseeing as if in a trance. Neither hid their shivers.

"He's gone." She called, not meaning his current location but his mental state, "He might be alive but, in his helm, he's long gone. Not everyone can stand battle trauma."

"He looks bad, anything we can do?" Prowl queried.

Arcee scrambled down and shut the entry to the hall, just in case the medic came back. "It another time and place, maybe. You're such a _softspark_ , we're going to have to break you of that too. Let him alone, if anything he'll scare off looters. Never bother a vacant 'former, m'kay?"

She caught the predicted look of confusion.

"They act out the last thing they experienced and unless you want to a fight a crazed 'former..."

"Don't bother those who walk aimlessly," he finished, fresh understanding burning in his optics.

"Good, you're not so dense after all." Arcee commended, "Keep it up."


	21. Balsam

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Hurt/Comfort_

" **Balsam** **"**

Prowl sighed as he dragged down the basement stairs to their new hideout in someone's old flat. There were still Autobot, Decepticon, and neutral skirmishes breaking out all over the city, so the beast-modes moved them in jagged, backtracking routes. No one else was here at the moment, they were all scouting. It was just he and Jazz.

The Polyhexian was a little better. Instead of miserable and in pain, he was grouchy and in pain, but at least he was awake. In his current state, Jazz just loafed around, looking like death warmed over, and eerily silent. They hadn't spoken since the initial attack on Uraya. Prowl stayed as far as possible from him. He wasn't quite sure how to approach the subject of being stuck to someone forever as their replacement twin. It just seemed wrong.

On top of that Lockdown was out of it as well. Arcee had just managed to dull the shooting phantom pains he was getting from his missing arm. Being that he'd butchered the internal workings of his limb installing that stolen saw, the pain was harder to manage. The painkillers Arcee gave him somehow had the opposite effect, he was hyper lucid and actually being nice. Or whatever Lockdown's version of it was.

Prowl had expected him to lash out at Jazz for being the cause of his missing arm—instead he let him loaf around next to him. Then Lockdown had stolen his acid pistol. Every time he asked about it he got cuffed on the helm with his good servo.

At least the green mech had two now, even if the other was trapped in a sling. It had been excruciating to watch him grab at something with his and realize his servo wasn't there.

Everyone else was fine, he still felt like scrap, though. He missed Praxus with a biting fury and if the reports were to be believed it was the last place you wanted to be right now. While his spark ached for those caught in the crossfire, he steeled himself. He had no home, no family, nowhere to run to… There wasn't anything else to lose now. If Arcee's threat-laced rambling was to believed he could actually get something useful from the arrangement. It was time to get this over with.

The nano he set ped in the basement an angry flare slit his spark and Jazz's visor onlined with a flash.

" _Go_ _ **away**_ _._ "

"I can't very well do that," he replied coolly, "Now that we're stuck together. Thank you for telling me by the way."

Jazz sat up with his back to the wall, "Fragging leave."

"No. I've been waiting a mega-cycle to yell at you and I'm going to take it." Prowl pitched a cube of diluted medical grade at him which the mechling just barely caught.

"I got a lecture already, don't you start," he snarled, nearly toppling out of the berth.

From who, Prowl didn't bother asking, it had to have been Stepper. He easily pushed Jazz back over the edge only to have his arm twisted to an uncomfortable angle.

At least his strength was back.

Said mech kept twisting, trying to get a reaction, "Why are you doing this?"

"Payback: a thank you for not killing me. Right now, you're still sick and I want to help you...also Arcee threatened to eat me if I don't."

" _So, don't let her see_ ," Jazz growled, "Just leave me alone and go back to being an aft."

"What's your problem?"

He assumed Jazz couldn't get more than a few steps without something misfiring and him falling. So, it was a surprise when he suddenly stood and marched over to a table dragging Prowl with him. Out of one of his many subspace compartments came at least a hundred of scarred, shattered, and bent data-slugs, whatever was on them now clearly unreadable. He dropped the final one, an unscathed black slug, on top of the pile.

"That's you, everything someone needs to know about you: daily routine, weaknesses, and all of that. Your sire paid _me_ to kill _you_. I took you somewhere fun and I was going to kill you that night, but I didn't. That's why you're here." He grabbed his audio horns out of frustration. "Now I don't know what to do with you."

"Oh," Prowl said flatly. He'd gotten what he'd asked for without the fight he'd expected. Unfortunately, that only spawned more questions. "You keep all your former kills' information?"

"Nah, I clean it out every vorn, best average was ten an orn."

"Scrap, that many?" He breathed, "And I'm going to guess you fooled Cabal well enough to get him off your trail. Tell me how."

"I've. Been. Trying. To," Jazz punctuated with a flat servo banging against the table. "Ersatz wasn't part of the plan. He was just there and then he went and got your colors and believed I wanted to hang out around Miz. It was too perfect. Then I felt bad. The pay was good, but besides you not keeping in line there wasn't any reason to kill you."

"And that old sci-fi story, Aequitas, was code for you trying to tell me you killed someone, because if you don't have the password you need a spark to activate it…" Prowl supplied, "That was a waste. You should have just taken me out."

Jazz's face went stony, "Stop saying slag like that! You're scaring me and you've got Lockdown more paranoid than usual. Besides, I have my reasons. Wasn't like he felt anything."

"Good."

Jazz flicked one of many neon colored slugs back and forth between servos, "Well?"

"What?" he asked, genuinely flummoxed.

"GET MAD!"

Prowl had thought about it for what felt like mega-cycles but as callous as it sounded, he couldn't. "There's little reason to. I won't condone it but, you know, I've never had anyone that's tried to make my life better or even wanted to. You're the closest I've ever had to a friend. Don't _ever_ do that again. Thank you, though."

The Polyhexian stood stunned, "Ah…no problem?"

"Besides we're stuck together," Prowl added.

Jazz snorted, leaning majority of his weight on the junky table, "Between Arcee and Lockdown blabbing you know what's wrong with me. Relax, bonds can be severed. You're not going to want me around for long."

Prowl spoke frankly, "Are you joking? I befriended my assassin. You're the ultimate slap in the face for my sire. Besides, you're not too horrible and your taste in music isn't awful... I could get used to traveling together."

That predatory glint crept back into his visor, "You _really_ think I'm your friend?"

"Absolutely. I don't have much to choose from and from the looks of it you need one just as much as I do." He ignored the Polyhexian's covert rub at what he knew was a scarred gash on his abdomen and continued. "If anything, this can work to both our advantages. You can make me bond literate and I'll make sure you stay in the land of the functioning."

Jazz looked down and pretended to scratch at his hidden optics, "You're pathetic, mech."

"I know." Prowl shrugged. He started picking through the pile of dead records only to have the assassin quickly snatch several back and begin stowing them all away.

"Yah don't wanna see all that's on these." Jazz immediately grabbed the undamaged slug, shattering it like the rest.

Prowl watched the internal workings of the device compress, "Out of everyone why'd you pick me?"

"Pity," Jazz said quickly, "It's not about an exact replacement…that's impossible. But nobody likes you and you know it. Even _Deadlock_ has friends. Your own family dumped you…that's gotta be hard. Stepper…he was tough, he would have been fine on his own. You wouldn't. I don't know… Yah actually look alive when you're smiling."

Well that was unexpectedly… empathetic. He watched Jazz manage to gather all the data-slugs and limp back to his berth before speaking again. "You know, I can handle being alone. I understand I'm unpleasant, but I can't imagine being connected to so many and still feeling like the odd one out."

He must have struck an insecurity.

Jazz dropped to berth with a thud, "I don't feel good again."

Prowl got the message to shut up. One ped kicked a waste can flush with his berth side and began to make his way out, "If you need anything, yell." He didn't get very far.

"Ey, Prowl…" he paused awkwardly, "Hard tah watch your own back in half-stasis… Stay here?"

The Praxian shrugged, "Of course."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Lockdown came back to the hideout festooned with glitter and holding an excitable pup with his left arm, his right strapped to his side like a bad wing. Arcee had found the yellow limb and reattached it, saying it was the best they could find. It synced a little too well to be harvested, but he didn't dare ask. He'd have his mobility back, that's all that mattered.

He did have a strut to pick with Rave, though. Even compared to the Decepticon she was suspicious. She was flirting with every mech in their group and it was giving him the creeps. With only one good arm and a hound that recently discovered she had a tail, he wasn't getting caught alone. He'd lived with Jazz; _nothing_ good ever came from that amount of chatter and smiling. Lockdown ditched her in a party supply store rife with mannequins so she'd feel right at home and immediately turned for their base. He had a feeling Arcee would thank him.

On making it to the basement he was met with laughter from Prowl, "Ohh, you look preeety!"

The flame printed mech very nearly fell down the rest of the stairs. Nope. That wasn't their Praxian. Someone had replaced their miserable prick with this weird one. He didn't know his wings could stand up that high without five cubes of engex clotting his lines. Naturally, Lockdown showed his relief with a blunt, "Stuff it."

He plonked himself beside Prowl, ignoring how the berth creaked ominously with three 'formers on it. Any other time there would have been an annoyed groan or a knife in his cabling from Jazz. This time the Polyhexian didn't even flinch. He hadn't seen Jazz that relaxed in—ever. He looked like he was dead. Lockdown poked him for good measure.

"He's out cold," Prowl confirmed, "Has been for joors. This is the first time he hasn't looked feverish or close to death. And he's got my arm in a vice lock. Help?"

Lockdown felt his plating flatten marginally, unable to pin down that venomous sensation in the back of his processor. No one ever relaxed around him…just the hound and that was because she didn't know any better. He leaned back into the wall, pushing Prowl over, and nodded to the lump nestled into his arm. "He's finally got someone to watch his back, let him rest. You two stopped avoiding each other."

"We came to an agreement," he said in that too sanitized tone, still a boring prick.

Lockdown finally let Flamewar go to entertain herself. "At least someone gets a happy ending. You're gonna hate sharin' your helm."

Prowl sat up, "Is that what having siblings is like?"

Of course, he'd ask that. He was a typical, clueless, only spark.

He gladly filled him in, "You'll have no privacy, they always go through your things, they won't call you until they're really in trouble, and you'll want to kill them on a regular basis—"

"So, it's like this whole roadtrip?"

Lockdown cut him a stale scowl, "And you'd still do anything for them, so yes."

Now he'd done it. Prowl was staring at him like he'd grown a second helm. That's what he got for showing some other emotion than indifference or rage. "Stop looking at me like that, freak. Out of everyone here, I think I hate you two and Arcee the least."

The Praxian still stared at him blankly before forcing out a "Thanks." Then he turned back, "Don't you miss your family?"

"Of course, I'm not a monster."

Debatable as that was Prowl had the decency not to bring it up. Now he looked confused. "Your family isn't screwed up?"

"No. They're pretty great; they don't think I'm completely crazy."

He looked as if someone had handed him the world's most confusing puzzle, "So why don't you want to go back to them? You don't have to be out here, they're probably worried."

Leave it to him to barrel into a situation and rip open old wounds like a bag of rusty daggers. He sighed, "Sometimes it's better to keep your distance to keep from poisoning everyone else. Besides, I don't do normal or healthy relationships."

A giant panel nearly clipped his helm as his doorwings swung downward. "In the spirit of forgiveness…" Prowl sighed, "I am sorry about taking a metaphorical stab at you. I didn't mean it. I had no right to bring up something that I know nothing of and that's a source of such pain. Thank you for stopping Arcee—"

" **Don't** thank me," he bit, cutting the formal apology. "Only reason you aren't as unconscious as Jazz is I'm not about to pound the guy whose city-state has a crater in it. But I will get you back for that stunt. That was _low_. _CABAL low_. Never sink to that. Maybe not now, not an orn from now, probably not a vorn, but I'm gonna get you back."

"Great…" Prowl groused.

It wasn't going to be that bad…mentally scarring, maybe, but nothing permanent. "Don't worry—"

"Yeah, yeah. In your tiny moral code log, it says 'killing isn't cool' for some reason. What happens when your victims come back to get you, though?"

Lockdown lifted his healing arm with the clear indication he was going to be working on it soon, "Then I change tactics." His digits weren't responding quite the way he wanted them to yet and he didn't have a full range of motion just yet. It would be a while longer until he could upgrade but he'd talk with Arcee on the proper way to rewire yourself. It couldn't be soon enough; this arm itched. "Doesn't feel right without the saw…"

Prowl shook his helm, "You're so cracked. You know, I have not met a sane mech, femme, or mechanimal since I left Praxus."

"Says a lot about you that you're still here, following us through pit. Welcome to the real world."

It was a nice stretch of peace that followed. No arguing or threats of questionable fulfillment. Just quiet. Lockdown almost forgot he was in a warzone stuck with younglings he wasn't sure he wanted to care about. He was back in Obelisk hiding under something with Tsui half dozing nearby. Those kinds of feelings were rare now so he soaked up every nano. All full ten kliks of it.

Then Arcee vaulted down the stairs, vents whirring as if she'd driven ticks at maximum speed. "Guys! Get Jazz up, you need to hear this."


	22. Basalt

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Deaths and gore_

* * *

" **Basalt** **"**

Jazz was really getting sick of being dragged out of recharge. Then again that was where he spent seventy percent of his time anyway; his repairs were creeping along at an overcharged slug's pace. Judging by everyone spazzing out, it was worth getting up. He let Prowl drag him into the next room.

 **~ What's wrong? ~** he sent without thinking. That earned both he and Prowl the sharpest bond backlash either one of them had ever experienced.

 **~ Not sure. This** _ **hurts**_ **; talk… out loud. ~** he sent sorely.

The trio came in on Arcee helping Rave patch a communications line from her comm into a crushed datapad.

"Good of you to join us," the second chirped, voice void of that borderline irritating enthusiasm. He'd seen the red and black femme enough to know she was hiding something. What he didn't know was whether it was the last rust stick or a time bomb. Jazz sat back to watch Rave work. It crossed his processor he could help her…he was good with communications. He really didn't feel like it though. The slender femme did a terrible job of pretending she wasn't phony. There was an art to feigning interest and she was fender deep on the suspicious side.

As the rest of the group trickled he observed them with optics not clouded over with virus. What he saw was a group only together out of necessity. Arcee and Belloc hung closely as the only beast-modes. Judging from the lack of space between them they knew each other on a personal level. He, Lockdown, and Prowl hung together as—a botched gang or whatever they were calling themselves. As the only official Decepticon, Overhaul just kept to himself, seemingly awkward about being around anyone. Rave skirted around the fringes of every group, never really settling on one.

He kicked himself mentally for letting that virus get so debilitating. In the time he'd been out, he hadn't been able to screen the new arrivals and now tension had built up to a breaking point.

Lockdown took that opportunity to kick him in reality.

Jazz let out an annoyed snarl that managed to alarm even Belloc. : _: Are you just hardwired to be a jerk? ::_

 _:: Yes. And what's done is done. You were sick, move on. ::_

At least the green mech was making an attempt at being nice. Really, it came off as creepy and unnatural. Maybe if he got better Lockdown would shove off and stop reading his EM like a line of code.

Rave suddenly straightened, "Got transmission!"

A voice crackled through the air accompanied by grainy imagery on the pad. _"—death tolls continue to rise across Cybertron as the coordinated Decepticon attacks on major areas continue—"_

All optics swung to Overhaul who bristled, "That wasn't us!"

Jazz cut his visor at the lumbering new-build. This guy was either lying or not too bright. He was banking on the second one. "There's a guy with a con insignia **right there,** right next to a bunch of dead Predas!" he gestured at the cracked pad.

"They're not Pax's followers…" Overhaul growled lowly, "Those weren't the marching orders I was given."

"Ever think they lied?"

A reptilian hiss cut their argument short as Arcee barked, "'Haul, Jazz, shuddup!"

" _Many attacks have been centered on Autobot and Enforcer strongholds. The total amount of casualties remains unclear—"_ The pad finally gave out as the internal workings gave a screech and the light died.

The only sound for the next klik was Lockdown stowing Flamewar away in his hold.

Belloc was the first to speak. "Good riddance."

As one of the 'formers he was glad to be rid of, Prowl apparently felt it his duty to say something incredibly stupid. "They don't always do what's right, but they're people too."

Jazz braced himself to wind up on the wrong side of the titan sized saurian.

Belloc exvented a cloud of soot and smoke, "Like my aunt? Like Arcee's clan? Like Rave's sire? Don't try that argument here, you _will_ lose."

"They're just a bunch of kids, Belloc, back off." Arcee called.

"Let him talk, you you're too easy on the 'forcer," Overhaul commented, "Even I noticed."

"You want to say that again, scrap eater?" She rounded on the bulky mech, "You're making me want to recant not cannibalizing. You're more than enough for three meals."

Rave looked skyward and then toward Belloc, "Quiet down, we'll get caught."

Prowl rose, not quite reaching the Predacon's chin even while the new build was sitting. "I don't know what you all have been through and any sympathy I give will be ignored. Nonetheless, you have it. But the fact remains that no cause in this universe is worth taking innocent lives over. What about the next person's relative? What about Jazz's family? Your goals are hypocritical and your leaders short sighted… Uraya, Praxus, Polyhex, Surac. Who's next?"

With that, the lights shut out leaving only optics and biolights visible, followed by a planet deep tremor and more gun fire.

Arcee sighed, "We are all in terrible trouble."

"Could you not be creepy for two kliks?" Overhaul sniped.

"That's it!" Rave snapped. She tore the links from the side of her helm and stormed part of the way up the stairs before jamming a digit to her comm, "I'm down here."

The pink femme blocked her from coming back down, "Who was that?"

She sniffed, cutting a degrading glare down at the Terrorcon. "I don't answer to you, glitch. I answer to Megatronus. Most of your pack was smart enough to join and then there was Cipher and _Spade_. You're either for or against us. There is no in-between."

There was the sound of shrieking metal and Rave stopped in the middle of speaking, mouth still open. Her optics traveled down to a rapidly spreading stain of bright cyan.

Headlights revealed the cause was Arcee's pronged tail jutting out of her chassis.

"If they're all as crooked as you, I say against." Arcee said quietly.

Rave clawed weakly at the tail impaling her through the chest, crying out as Arcee withdrew her spark, sending energon spurting. Rave's frame crashed to the floor. Arcee slung the organ far across the room, optics glowing with some indescribable hate. She dragged the frame back to ground level, cleaning the still bright fluid from her tail as she went. Rave was dropped in the middle of the group. She met startled optics with indifference, "Anyone else care to join the Decepticon forces?"

When no one answered, she snarled, " **WeLl?** "

That slip up finally earned scattered denials.

Arcee stood taller, black fissures creeping down her unruly back kibble and shoulders, "Listen closely, we don't have long. I don't care what any of you do outside of Uraya, you can go join them for all I care, but I'm not going to be taken against my will. The Decepticons aren't what they seem."

"Big surprise there," Prowl called.

Jazz was beginning to think Prowl had a serious suicidal streak in him.

The Terrorcon strode faceplate to faceplate with him and whispered something into his audio, causing the Praxian's wings to fold in on themselves. He didn't say a word after that.

She pulled away, addressing them again, "The Decepticons wanted numbers and they got them. That won't mean they'll keep them though. We're outnumbered and outclassed and we're going to have to fight our way out. Those guys out there have vorns of experience on us and they're twice our size, but we will not give up. We will get out. Belloc, you're expert at guerilla warfare. I propose you as Alpha. Overhaul, do you have any issues working with us?"

With Rave's still warm frame in front of him as an excellent visual aid he quietly muttered, "No, ma'am."

"Good. You know D 'con tactics, Beta position. I know these streets and alleys, I propose myself as third ranking. Does anyone dare challenge me?" Arcee barked.

Silence greeted her before Belloc chuckled, "You're running the show anyway…"

Some of the black receded into her frame, like she remembered she needed to play at being normal still. "A medic knows where they are most needed and if there's an injury I won't be able to treat it. Also, if you are critically injured we cannot afford to come back and rescue you. It's not our way to leave pack, but it would be suicide to turn back, so keep up."

Her optics locked onto his visor, "Do you think you can make it?"

Come to think of it, no. Jazz felt like scrap, there was a hole rivaling Rave's in his chassis, and the room was already starting to blur from standing so long. So naturally he lied for everyone's sake. "Ah know I can."

"Good," she nodded helm jerking back to the basement door muffling the sound of approaching troops, "You're on."

Everyone dropped back as he stalked forward. He stuck two digits into his mouth, pulling out his glossa piercing to show the rest of the group. "Sound grenade. When the bass drops, get ready to run."

Thoughts that weren't his own began to bleed into his helm, aggravating his still raw spark.

 **~ I hope you know what you're doing. The ceiling is already unstable. ~**

He grit his denta, this had to be hurting Prowl just as much. It had to be important. **~Then what do you suggest? ~**

 **~ Two steps to your left and one back, bolt over the rubble. ~**

The door crashed open and he threw the orb, leaving every troop in the narrow hall incapacitated. As the roof creaked, Jazz vaulted over the nearest mech and transformed on making up to ground level. He scrambled through one window, tailed closely by their team and leapt right into pit.

The best way to describe the scene outside was the floor of a forge. Hot, dark, smoky, with sparks and embers everywhere. Belloc shouldered him sideways in his beast mode unleashing a stream of fire into a crowd, clearing a path for their escape. One that was quickly swallowed by the throngs of unidentifiable 'formers. After the sixth attempt Belloc looked helpless. They'd waded right into a riot and there was no way out. The saurian instead called them to a circular formation.

In all their time on the road, this was their first full contact fight.

Eventually, everything fell into a pattern. Arcee's blades. Belloc's claws. Blaster fire from Prowl and Overhaul. Lockdown using whatever he could get his servos on. As for himself, he'd forgotten when he'd lost his shank and graduated to using his blaster. Nothing else mattered outside of their circle.

Then Belloc took a shot to his side and another to his chest. He snapped the helm off the 'former that shot him only to have an older, bigger Preda's jaws come forward and drag him deep into the fray. There were several wild blasts of flame, giving them a glimpse of a way out. But the mech never came back.

Arcee came apart at the seams—literally. The black that had been in her frame took over, breaking apart what he thought was her armor until a writhing black mass of distorting EM was all that remained. And then it morphed into a quadruped form, jaws splayed in warning before she plunged into the crowd. Lockdown charged behind the vision of underworld horror her followed by the rest of the team.

Just like that, they'd made out. Five of them now.

Then there were five shots and Overhaul dropped.

Despite Arcee's warning, Prowl turned back to help the newbuild. Somewhere behind him the Terrorcon was yelling and in front a sniper was peppering them with blasterfire. He skidded to a stop and swore at whatever coding that made the Praxian such a law-abiding moron. Still, 'Haul wasn't dead yet and those two idiots were going to get killed.

Suddenly something, a Seeker maybe, slammed into them and the world went sideways. The last thing he saw was a flash of wicked fangs closing over a Decepticon's wrist.

Jazz onlined to Arcee screaming, "I said **don't** stop!"

He flinched as Prowl challenged her, sounding way too much like his sire, "What were we supposed to do, leave him?"

"Yes!"

He felt a growl come from beneath him and realized he was magnetized to Lockdown's back. "Shut up, both of you!" the green mech boomed.

"I'm yelling at you too!" she screeched.

Jazz finally forced his visor on to see Arcee looking like her old self minus the inky cracks all over her frame. Something had changed in the femme and not for the better. Now she wore the raw hate of loss.

Jazz chanced interrupting, "Guys, where's Overhaul?"

"Probably dead like everyone else," Arcee hissed bitterly.

And with that they kept arguing.

Jazz slouched dejectedly, pillowing his helm against Lockdown's neck cables. So, they were only four now. They weren't in any danger of being targeted right now, they were all doused in the backwash of Arcee's Terrorcon EM. As close as they were walking to Lockdown he wondered if they could be seen either. He let them fight, it wasn't anger driving it anyway. No one would admit it but beneath the flared EM's and sharp words they all reeked of fear.

Arcee was reliving whatever fresh pit she'd seen as a sparkling and fighting every nano of it. Lockdown was unreadable as ever. Prowl wasn't going to shut up until she admitted he was right. And as for himself? He was seeing Stepper in every cold frame. That was until he actually saw his twin.

He managed to detach himself and limp off from the group. Jazz was soon well aware he had blaster rounds in his legs and back, but he had to get away.

The green mech snatched him back, "Where do you think you're going?"

He didn't meet Lockdown's optics, "Away from Stepper."

That finally shut them up. One by one they spotted the crumpled, grey metal he'd seen.

Arcee looked crushed, "Jazz, I—"

But he didn't feel like thinking, much less talking. He walked off. At least it was cooler outside the city. Fighting was still going on around them further away. Above, the sky rumbled promising acid rain after all the smoke poured into it. He worked his way into an upended culvert pipe and huddled in the back. So that was really it then. Stepper was dead. Thankfully, he'd learned to have a delayed reaction to everything. It was something Stepper fought denta and claw to teach him. The least he could do was not break down now.

The Terrorcon climbed up, relief making her blue frame sag, "Don't just run off like that." Prowl came up next looking over his shoulder at their final member, "You better hurry up, it's going to rain."

Lockdown pulled himself in looking ill at ease and like he might finish emptying his tank up here. Jazz didn't know he _could_ purge. The green mech settled down frame shivering and pulled Flamewar out, the pup fast in recharge.

Prowl kept staring at his servos.

Arcee wouldn't look up. She had long trails of cyan fluid coming from her optics and at this point he was fine not knowing the specifics of what it was.

As for himself, like everyone else he'd been shot several times. Thankfully, the sniper had used lasers, not actual projectiles. His plating was thin but it did deflect most of the damage. He didn't remember being asked to be repainted with this much blue though…

Energon, his mind suddenly supplied. They were all sprayed with energon and it reeked.

He could feel Prowl slipping into a cycle of panic accompanied by the burn of many shared, severed bonds and one final message from his twin his mind had backlogged.

 **~ Where are you? ~**


	23. Bye

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Brief punishment_

* * *

" **Bye"**

 **~Back in Kaon~**

Deadlock came back through the groundbridge to Kaon just in time for the planetwide report. Nova Magnus was dead. Another cycle, another job—this one had just been tougher. They weren't called the Elite Guard for nothing. He'd done his bit, he was leaving the rest of it to Megatronus.

Gasket plodded in beside him, picking up speed as he caught wind of his monochromatic packmate. The dark mech stretched wearily. He was inclined to curl up with them if he didn't find a meal first. Just so happened he passed Blackout.

Deadlock offered a fanged grimace, "Miss me?"

"No," the chopper mech joked, tugging on one of his audials. "I've been out of commission for a while."

"Aw, ya sick? Goldbug couldn't have taken that well."

The deep blue mech paused, "Who's that?"

Deadlock circled back to face the massive mech. It wasn't like Blackout to play jokes. "Your sparkling? Ya know you and Lightfire?"

"No," he frowned, hidden faceplates probably contorting in confusion, then disappointment. "Locccck, you promised me you'd stay off the narcotics."

"It wasn't a syk trip," he pleaded, "You have a family!"

"Okay, then…so I do," Blackout shrugged, "Stay sober, buddy."

The mercenary almost considered that maybe he'd taken more hits to the helm than he thought. Then he walked in on his pets in a far back room. Gidget was hiding beneath a berth and Gasket had her supported on one side, trying to console the fox. She was franticly attempting to get up, but her left side was unwilling. Gidg had a nasty dent to the same side of her helm and tentacle marks. Then he made the mistake of looking under a tarp spread over the berth they were under.

He curled a fist. Well, there was his answer to where Lightfire was.

Before he could leave Soundwave blocked his exit. "Wait."

Deadlock didn't, he shoved the taller spymaster against the nearest wall, "What. Did. You. DO?"

"Cabal discovered she was a double agent. There wasn't any other way—"

"Where's the sparkling?" he asked blankly.

In the five kliks he waited, Soundwave didn't answer and he never would.

The short blade was out of Deadlock's sheath before he knew it and there was soon a jagged hole where the spymaster's vocalizer once was. He let the mech collapse silently, choking on his own fluids.

"Excuses, excuses, you jealous piece of trash. If they can't speak for themselves, then you most certainly don't deserve to _predatel'_ ," he spat the Kaonite insult.

Deadlock left the mech clutching his throat on a self-appointed mission, ignoring all else. He swatted away Lazerbeak, blew past Orion and Blackout, and went off to do what he did best. They'd gotten what they wanted out of him just like everyone else, nothing was left for him here, and he'd been a fool to expect anything more.

He left the base with his pets, stepped into Kaon's dark innards, and vanished.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **~Sea of Rust, several hundred thousand ticks away~**

Somewhere on the edge of the Sea of Rust, a nameless sparkling realized he was being carried by his scruffbar in a land of swirling particulate and murky skies. The brightness compared to what his optics were used to was blinding. He knew no fear at the time and asked, "Where are we?"

The one holding him let go in surprise and he was greeted by a large, black, red opticed wild cat. How he knew what it was he didn't know, but it wasn't scary. The sight of it was comforting.

"You're awake…" the cat said quietly.

"Yeah!"

He sighed, glossa darting out to groom him, "You're a tough pit-spawn. We are in the Sea of Rust, little one."

The sparkling was picked up again this time the hot particulate flew beneath them as the cat closed distance between them and a large encampment.

"Why are we here?" He asked again.

This time he was set in the shade of building and the cat stepped away. "You're going to have a new home, all sparklings are brought to their parentages by the Rock Cats. Normally, my packages don't wake while I'm transporting them."

Being that he didn't have the memory to know Ravage was lying to him, the former Goldbug went along with it happily. "Ok!"

"Be good now."

"Ok! Buh-bye!"

He remembered nothing but he knew enough to know what sad was. That was how the cat looked really, really sad.

"Bye."

And he disappeared over a dune.


	24. Black Plaque

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _We're dropping in on different characters for a chapter_

" **Black Plaque** **"**

* * *

 **~ Hyra ~**

Sunstreaker craved familiarity. It would have been weird if he didn't. He had a nearly identical twin, they'd had the same guardian for what felt like forever, and had lived here, in the same flat in Hyra, since Tirade had brought them here as sparklings.

The golden mech frowned. Come to think of it he hadn't heard or seen the Predacon for some time… He put it out of his mind. The vulpine build was probably fine, hopefully he'd be able to comm him before they left for good.

Almost on cue, one of the 'formers Sideswipe called a friend brought up their move to Iacon again. The orange and black mech leaned back, vocalizer wrecked with the effort to sound unique. The attempt to sound cool ended with him having an exotic accent that didn't suit him at all. "I can't believe you're moving…Can't you just let Ratchet move and you both stay?"

Sunstreaker folded his arms on the kitchen bar, drinking in the conversation. They could. They were past the age for needing a guardian but with the steep cost of moving out it was cheaper to stay home. Besides, they liked Ratchet. He was one of the rare mechs that _understood_ them and their Preda-ish ways. They'd been raised by turbo-foxes, that behavior came with the territory. Being that he was also one of the rare vehicle-modes that dared repair Predas having back-up never hurt.

Sideswipe slumped, "I don't want to but things are changing. If the Cons are fine destroying whole city-states they're not worth joining. The Autobots are down. They're going to need medics in Iacon and defense."

"What about you Sunny?" one of the femmes chirped.

The answer was clear. He'd go wherever Sideswipe went; that's how it had always been. Besides, ever since the red mech's near death in the youth league Pits, he'd had to be the responsible twin. The now wheeled mech had gotten the hang of using his prosthetics, and was in passable shape for a fight. Not that Ratchet would want them anywhere near combat. Sunstreaker wouldn't have minded it though. All this sitting around helping Sides with merchant work got boring…

He received an annoyed bond nudge from Sideswipe and realized they were still waiting on a response. Sunstreaker only shrugged, nodding in his twin's direction. They accepted and continued the conversation. That's what he liked about this group, the three of them were all Sides' buddies and they didn't mind that he didn't talk.

And then there was Acetone-the-weirdo, drenched in kitschy neon colors that burned as harshly as the chemical she was named after. The minibot was obsessed with beast modes and thus wound up following him around, since he was the more Predacon of the two. Ace had moved out of her parentage's flat and no longer had optics to keep tabs on what she did or who she stalked.

Then she disappeared for an orn with zero contact.

One lunar an insectoid Predacon showed up at Ratchet's after joors beast-mode clinic with the minibot in tow. Her nerves had been rattled and some strange symbol engraved into her side. Every Preda in the place, injured or not, suddenly left. The strange femme that brought her only let on that Ace had seen something she shouldn't have before leaving as well. Any external scrapes healed just fine but he was the last one to judge about mental states. After that, he didn't mind the mini tailing him. She was afraid to be alone now.

After that episode, Predacons treated her with suspicion and some with a bizarre fascination. All Predas sloughed off coming to Ratchet. Those that did dare come back normally asked for a full system check or weaponry installations. Now with Uraya in flames they knew why.

Meanwhile, Sideswipe had spotted the sector drunk outside at ground level and attempted to flag him down, "Heeey, Landfill! Where ya been?"

Sunstreaker joined him leaning over the edge, until his olfactory ridge flared. Something was wrong. Landfill wasn't the most hygienic mech but he'd never smelled like that before. He smelled like Plague.

"Shut up." Sunstreaker barked. "He aint moving right."

Sure enough, the mech staggered even as he was hunched in a predatory stance.

Acetone, meanwhile, had sunk beneath the bar, panic racking her frame, "He was telling the truth...They're here."

"Not the time for playing the pronoun game…" Sunstreaker warned.

Prophy held her still, finally managing to calm her before asking, "Who is he, Ace?"

Her response was cut with static and keens but it sounded like "Massicons" and "Crankcase".

Meanwhile Landfill proceeded to attack the first Transformer he came across. Sides and he shared a look and used the same weaponry they'd sworn they'd gotten rid of, felling the mech.

The weird accented one gaped, "You two just—"

"Yeah?" Sunstreaker challenged. He peered further out, spotting another stalking 'former. "I survived one Plague, I'm not about to get taken out in this one."


	25. Blowout

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Typical mayhem_

* * *

" **Blowout** **"**

Ticks away on the outskirts of a city-state no one bothered to remember the name of the disgraced former co-commander of the Decepticons was hiding from his own forces in a drainage ditch.

The irony burned Orion Pax almost as badly as the parting shot Megatronus had left him with.

Deadlock cutting out Soundwave's voicebox had been the breaking point. The mech had stormed past him so quickly all he'd thought was that they'd had another falling out. Of all the things Pax been expecting to find, Soundwave draining out wasn't one of them. The spymaster's digits carefully staunched the energon flow at his throat while his cables carried out the work of coordinating attacks. Blackout and Ravage had come in and he'd been asked to leave.

Deadlock's behavior bothered Pax though, the mercenary was manic not stupid. Something had happened, but the spymaster couldn't speak and refused to talk to him. It was only while Soundwave was reporting to his half sibling he got the news from Ironhide: Uraya had gone terribly wrong.

Someone had moved before the signal turning what was supposed to be a demonstration into an all-out riot. He had to bridge his old friend back some joors later. Ironhide had returned with battle damage and no Overhaul. He explained the cadet had been assigned to a splinter team that had vanished and several Predas had turned on Bobtail. The felid's former pack was now under Decepticon command. Worse yet, Praxus had been bombed, Autobot strongholds were under siege, and the Decepticons were taking full responsibility for it.

They were supposed to be _liberating_ Transformers not _killing them_. All they were doing was proving exactly what the Autobots said about them was right, or as his half-brother said what they'd been all along, a terror cell. Because he wanted to use the chaos to seize control of Cybertron.

So many vorns of working together in hopes of a brighter future for Cybertron all amounted to what was becoming the planet's most destructive faction in known history.

So much he'd forgiven or looked over... arming themselves, training Deadlock as a mercenary, a "demonstration", had he really been that blind? All of that sacrifice just to be given the same option that the Predacons had been assigned, join or die.

Ironhide had met that as he always did, with a cannon and it nearly cost him an optic. Megatron had attempted to shred him and Pax was given the choice of going along with a half-sibling he no longer recognized or the mech had known since sparklinghood—the same one who never really wanted to join the 'Cons in the first place.

He chose Ironhide.

The group they now had wasn't even a fraction of their former numbers but—they were loyal.

Chromia perched next to her mate, the hulking mech still pretending his optic hadn't nearly been clawed out. The blue femme sat taller, purposely speaking loud enough for the whole crew to hear, "So what now, Pax?"

That question drew interrogative looks from all shades of optics.

That was what made the femme a good ally. She coated nothing with silicone, called slag out, and was devoted. A good number of her crew had followed her when they'd left. She was also prone to staging arguments in front of crew to bolster confidence in leaders. A skill Megatronus and Starscream never caught on to. Between she and 'Hide they voiced the opinions of the crew.

Orion stood, he'd inherited Leviathan's booming vocals and he intended to put them to good use for a change. "We're joining the Autobots."

"Didn't take you for the type to order a suicide mission, Pax."

"It is not. In fact, it's the best thing we can do at the time. They'll need numbers and those who don't want to join the Decepticons will come to them. And we will help fix what we've torn apart."

She hummed, "And if they want no part of us?"

"They will. If they don't, then we'll just be another faction they'll have to worry about."


	26. Bulletin

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Typical Mayhem_

* * *

" **Bulletin** **"**

Lockdown stared out over the wasteland Uraya's outskirts had become behind them. They hadn't moved for cycles… He wasn't as tired as he had been, not physically.

There was an old radio someone had dragged back stuck on a thrash station that constantly looped an expletive laden song demeaning Enforcers. No one cared, least of all Prowl. They gave updates about the what was happening around them and that was all that mattered. Among the nonsense all it seemed to spit out was that lot of people were dead now. When the Decepticons came they hit every major Autobot headquarters at once. Out of the fifty, the only attack that fell through was in Iacon, and it had been thwarted by _civilians_. Still, the Magnus had been killed so that made things even. The fighting in Uraya spread to Praxus and Polyhex got involved. In the process, all three had been decimated, worst of all Praxus. It wasn't there anymore. As for where they were now, help wouldn't be coming here, not right away.

They weren't badly hurt. That was fortunate.

A shifting, dark form that melded with the shadows alit on an upturned pipe nearby, long, bladed tail waving, "It'S mE."

At this point he wasn't surprised anymore. From what he could tell she had at least four different modes—it was impressive. He scooted over to allow the Terrorcon into their hideout.

Arcee reverted back to her blindingly pink colors, dropping to the floor cross-legged. "We should go soon, it's starting to reek of death, and there are other scavengers out there way worse than us."

He gave her a questioning look and Arcee tapped a patch of gouged plating on her arm, "Not kidding. How have they been?" She asked, motioning to the new "twins" tucked back-to-back at the end of the pipe.

Lockdown looked over with what he hoped was hidden envy, "Fine, but I can't think how to get them closer faster other than forcing it and that's just going to be bad for everyone."

"Fickle. Fickle. Thought you didn't want anyone else in your helm?" She nudged his shoulder in a very vehicle-mode expression of affection. "It's _okay_. Were they friends previously?"

"Hah!" he barked, "They tried to tear each other apart after I cuffed 'em together!"

She raised an inquiring optic ridge.

"Long story, I swear it's not as weird as it sounds," he cringed, "They aren't yelling anymore, that's an improvement. Then again, everyone's too tired to yell."

Arcee brightened a bit, "There's a tram station not too far from here. We can get some rest on there."

By now Prowl had forced himself awake, "You shouldn't recharge on public transport."

"Hey, nerd." They both chorused.

He dropped next to them, rubbing the heel of his servo into his faceplate. "This time can we get some energon that doesn't taste preprocessed?"

No one dared linger too long thinking about where the energon they drank came from or how one could get a hold of it. Arcee dragged them outside a cycle before their fuel supply ran out and taught them how to find energon without digging. It was simple. Find a frame, carve into it, extract what you came for, and leave. He even got some interesting parts out of looting cold frames. Still, no one felt up to eating for a good four cycles after that.

He would have thought Arcee would have been used to it. She'd confided though, the last time she had someone was blearily encouraging her to drink and she couldn't stop clicking. That was the last memory she had before her processor was wiped. It seemed like she only remembered what she wanted to about her past and he'd said as much. Arcee had then kicked him in the leg hard enough to hurt, but light enough not to dent. Either way, everyone was sick of drinking dead 'formers fuel reserves.

The promise of fresh fuel seemed to power the reformed Terrorcon, "We will once we're further off."

"Is that what eating other 'formers feels like?" Prowl asked quietly.

And there the Praxian went again, asking questions he shouldn't. Lockdown's tanks roiled involuntarily, more out of hunger than queasiness. He'd actually grown a taste for it…or gotten used to tearing up the dead.

Arcee, however, decided to indulge them. "It's crunchier, you can feel the energy left in the frame if its fresh. I think I used to enjoy it more when I was little, now the taste is gone though. It's not fun anymore."

His tanks finally let out a low, vicious growl causing the other two fix him with a worried stare. First, he casually spilled his guts to Arcee, then Prowl, and now his frame was acting up.

"Everything okay?" Arcee pushed.

He shrugged helplessly, "It's nothing. I've been turning invisible too much."

"I 've heard some 'formers spontaneously turn Terrorcon when weird slag happens…" she gestured outside, "Or it's just a growth spurt."

"Let's go with that last one and _get out of here_ , I can't handle two cannibals." Prowl groused.

Lockdown wacked him aside the helm and she turned to shake Jazz awake, "Time to go, sparklet."

At one time Jazz might have railed off and punched anyone that dared call him that, instead he seemed to like the pet name just fine. While no one looked like themselves anymore, Jazz had to be the worst. He was dead on his peds, quiet and sluggish all over again, and very nearly split his helm open getting out of the hideout.

Outside, Arcee scuffed out a shallow trench, and started handing out slivers of colored metal to the other younglings. Lockdown tried not to notice how similar some of the colors were to the 'formers they'd lost while escaping. They couldn't go back for bodies, scrap metal would have to do for a funeral, or some small mockup of one.

Her kibble pinned back almost to the point of disappearing on her back, "Jazz, you got something hot enough to smelt?"

The Polyhexian tossed a flash burning device into the pit immediately starting a blaze.

Everyone took turns throwing them in, Jazz taking the longest as he finally threw out those broken data slugs.

No one spoke.

The fire eventually burnt out in the smoggy darkness, leaving a pool of congealed metals.

" _Vivimus perdere,"_ she began hoarsely, _"Nos progredi. Ad lucem."_ And stalked off into the wasteland, helm lowered.

Sometime later the translating software he'd picked up finally became of use. What she'd said was: "We live, we lose, we move forward. To the light."

And so, they moved on.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Arcee cringed as she led the way into the next sector. The world outside was painfully normal and they were too out of place still smattered in energon. People would ask questions. Thankfully, there were refugee centers forming. In the crowd, it was easy enough to blend in and lose the guys at the wash racks with the explanation she was going to the femme side.

They'd be fine, but Jazz was so weak. It was bringing out her either her predatory or her nurturing side and she didn't trust herself around them until she knew for certain. She shook her helm.

Fortunately, she was just hungry.

Arcee didn't get how they could go on nothing but liquids. If she didn't have anything in her tanks they ached. That was why she kept rust sticks on herself; no prey, no problem, eat a snack. Her spark flared with glee though when out of the corner of her optic she spotted a wounded pet.

Flamewar would have a fit, they all would, but she had her needs and they theirs. The Terrorcon whistled, summoning the unfortunate hound.

Somewhere in her coding a sense of disgust welled up at the idea of being reduced to eating pets like some starving half-bit. At this point she was perfectly willing to be said half-bit. It wasn't like there was anything else to lose by keeping company with these vehicle modes. If not hunting their own kept her on their side, so be it.

That meal gave her enough energy to take on a new form, one less like likely to be dragged into a dark alley and left for dead.

Spade always warned her the cycle would come when she'd have to take a new form to disguise herself. She was ready.

In a bulky frame of blue and yellow Arcee slipped into the mech's racks effortlessly, disappointed when none of her mechlings turned around. Jazz had his helm against the wall. Even the steeljaw was dead on her paws. They needed a good wake up call. Maybe she'd put more effort into one as soon as the strut deep ache left her own frame. They needed somewhere to recover.

She followed them outside and listened in casually.

Lockdown stalked ahead, taking up whatever pseudo leadership role he held, "We don't look like axe murders anymore. Next tram outta here leaves next cycle—" He quickly frowned up at Prowl's lowered wings. "Don't give me that. We need to put as much distance between us and the war zone as possible. Letalis."

"Cheery name for a city," Prowl added.

"It's three hundred ticks out of the way. Nice long recharge." He scanned the crowds, "You see Pinky anywhere?"

Bold of him to assume she'd tolerate that nickname.

"No. She'll be back. A Terrorcon won't pass up potential meals." Prowl grumbled.

Then the spiky green mech snapped back, "Will you stop talking about her like that? She got us out of Uraya, didn't she?"

"Sheesh. Someone's defensive…" the Praxian observed coyly.

Before she had much longer to dwell on it, Flamewar wandered over to her peds and sat, forepaws stretching high in a "pick-me-up" motion.

Before all this was over, she might actually start to like this beast. "Lazy femme," she smiled softly, mussing the quadruped's audios, "I hope you don't expect me to actually carry you. You're a pet, you walk."

"Arcee?!"

She hushed them urging the group to start walking, "Call me RC, just a change of glyph inflection."

"You shifted to look like a mech?" Prowl asked.

"In times like this, common decency is the first thing to go and femmes get hit the hardest. I'm not getting raped." Arcee snarled.

Lockdown nodded and the Praxian kept his distance from her, both putting two and two together as they seriously considered what probably went into her new appearance—or who.

At least they were still thinking clearly. There was only one way to get that much material for such a dramatic change so soon. Jazz was still zoned out.

Prowl was trying to ignore the fresh transformation line along her jaw and the energon of indeterminate origin in the corner of her mouth. "You got a little something…"

Her glossa raked the side of her cheek with a rough scrape, "Good, not all of you are drones. It wasn't sentient…I found a stray mechanimal…"

"Change." Lockdown snapped, stifling a wince. He locked optics with the femme, "As long as you're with us you won't have anything to worry about. You know we got your back."

That earned him three looks of surprise, herself included.

He looked down, faceplate blank, "What? I'm not a monster."

With a brief check of her surroundings she reverted and grabbed him by the chin, jagged fangs fully visible. "So, chivalry isn't dead! My hero."

Lockdown squirmed, trying to claw away, "Will ya cut it out?!"

She snickered, "I thought this was a mech's only club?"

"Please, if that were a requirement we'd have to kick Prowl out," he raised his voice to talk over the irate Praxian's objection. "All we want is skills."

She let his chin drop brusquely. That was all the information she needed. They were a solid pack. "Alrighty then, so we're going to Letalis?"

"We've got a cycle to kill—" Lockdown began.

"We shouldn't go to Hyra." Jazz blurted.

Everyone shared a brief look. Those were his first words in joors.

"No kidding," Prowl said gently, "It's out of the way."

The Polyhexian shook his helm, "Not because of that, Massicons are there."

"Ok then. We won't." Lockdown frowned, sending a comm. privy to the three of them, _:: I think we're losing him. Prowl—::_

 _:: I have him. ::_

The green mech relented, "Like I said, got a cycle to kill. Let's get you two's armor refitted."

"Okay then," Arcee nodded, unsubspacing a stolen pistol. "Time to work."

Two things happened in the nano following: she shot herself in the thigh and Prowl winced, coolant pooling in his optics both of which startled Lockdown.

She grit her denta at Prowl, "I thought I told you to quit clicking?"

"I'm **not** —you just shot yourself!" Prowl crowed.

"Sympathy discount," she said, "If we look beat up, they'll feel bad."

"Make it more authentic," Jazz pushed Prowl forward, "And look like you're clicking."

Arcee canted her helm.

"You can't shed coolant, can you? Use his. Yah welcome." Jazz strolled off, "And I'm not crazy. See you at the place."

Lockdown seemed to relax a bit, "What was that blue stuff on your face earlier?"

"Energon," she passed digits across Prowl's face to smear coolant on her own, "He's right, Terrorcons can't shed coolant; nasty aint it?"

"Eh, it could be worse."

"That's almost as strange as Jazz hearing a private comm." Prowl added, he mopped at his faceplates. "Anyone else feel _weird_?"

Considering the errand list of slag they'd just been through, it could have been anything that was ailing him. But on some level, she _knew_ exactly what he was asking. _Do you feel that too?_ That strange undercurrent in your very core that part of you warned was deadly and the other side welcomed.

Lock apparently thought it best not to answer him.

Arcee smirked and gave him a bogus answer, "It's just the used energon, nothing to worry about."

They then walked into an automated smith's shop on and in on a standoff.

Jazz had an annoyed expression and nothing drawn, while the other two 'formers had rifles trained on him. It seemed the Polyhexian had forgotten his reputation preceded him.

The larger of the two was tall, bulky, and green with a helm-ridge that could probably slice metal. The shorter mech practically glowed his paintjob was so bright, the exact opposite of Lockdown's. Both were Autobot branded, armor tattered like their own, and packing weaponry that clearly wasn't cadet issued. Still the 'Bots were outnumbered and outgunned but a fight would just get them all arrested.

Apparently, that was something the flaming mech was more than willing to take advantage of. The youngling cracked a thousand-volt smile, "Meister, funny running into you here!" He holstered his weapon to his back, EM field welcoming, "How've you been?"

Jazz let out a heated ex-vent, "Don't know you. **Move.** "

He probably just wanted to recharge, his systems still hadn't recalibrated completely especially after running on half power even during recharge. That tone wasn't convincing them not to put several rounds in him though. So Arcee took a clip from Rave's files and acted, but with a class the late femme never had. She shrunk down, leaned on the doorway and purposely favored her 'hurt' leg, even throwing in a little sniffle for good measure.

And it worked like a charm. She watched them quickly size up Lockdown and Prowl before relaxing at seeing her. They were probably reasoning that if an Enforcer and a femme were with them they weren't on that dangerous of a streak.

All the better so they could start off on the right ped.

"If we put our weapons down, will you call him off?" the big one asked cautiously.

"Depends on whether you get out of the way, screwball." Jazz barked.

Prowl strode forward and dragged the assassin off to one armor stall, "Ignore him, he's sick and delusional."

The bright one watched them go with care, "You know who that is, right?"

"Well aware." Lockdown cut.

Arcee altered her vocals to a watery squeak, "He really is nice."

With the further assurance that they were just humble survivors the first one launched into conversation. "So….my desi's Hot Rod, he's Springer, just graduated academy. Sorta. When it's blown up and you're all that's left of a class of sixty, then you've graduated," he finished bitterly, meeting Lockdown's optics. "'Cons shot up our academy in Rodion. What happened to you guys?"

"Uraya,"

They both winced. "That sucks."

Lockdown allowed himself to become a crutch as she limped forward, the parts ghoul getting in on the act too. "Yeah, so if you don't mind."

Hot Rod was either terrible at taking cues or just ignored them. He followed, asking more questions with his friend and Arcee resigned to keep her mask on a little longer.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Compared to what he had been like Jazz was mute now, Prowl mused. Forging new armor, even by artificial means, took a while and he'd been silent all the way through with his back towards him. Every so often though, he'd hear a choked click.

There wasn't any sense in attempting to coddle Jazz when there was no telling how he'd react in this frame of mind. So, they worked in silence. He allowed the equipment to scan his frame and accepted the alloy laden plating it spat out, oddly enough without asking for credits. At least Jazz was well enough to hack. It crossed his mind how much better smart metal would have been. He'd be just fine allowing it to integrate into his frame. Eventually, Prowl settled himself in a corner and started reading.

Jazz wandered over soon after, coming to stand in front of him. "You really should take that thing out of your door."

He didn't even bother looking up as he wriggled his pierced doorwing, "I like it."

"Weirdo." Jazz plopped down next to him.

He observed the youngling's audio horns. The ornament he'd given him had melded into the horn either from the heat of Uraya burning or a blaster shot, but he hadn't removed it. "Is your armor fitting okay?"

Jazz nodded offhandedly, mopping at his faceplate in the same way he'd done earlier.

It was dawning on Prowl that the emotions that made him tear up earlier weren't his own. "Are you well?"

Those were the wrong words. He growled, "What kind of question is that? How do you think I am!"

"I'm only asking a question." Prowl eyed his once assassin, "No one else is here and sound is muffled from everyone else."

Jazz gave him the nastiest glare yet. Then he let out a hiccup, finally dissolving back into tears. He didn't turn his vocalizer on and he'd pulled his visor back, resulting in a completely different looking 'former. The mechling staring back at him wasn't Meister or Ricochet, he was scared and looked vorns younger than what he actually was.

Then he shoved his helm into Prowl's shoulder, _:: If you tell_ _ **anyone**_ _about this— ::_

 _:: You'll cut off my chevron, yeah, yeah. ::_ Prowl sighed, _:: You're allowed to miss your family. ::_

That seemed to only make it worse. Jazz's sides shook and he squirmed around until his helm was buried in Prowl's side. He didn't hear him clicking but the coolant trailing down his side plating told a different story.

 **~ I left Stepper and he died. ~**

Prowl cringed at the fresh connection, **~ It's not your fault. ~**

Jazz let out a shuddering vent. **~ He died alone, wondering where I was... I shouda told him to stay home, he knew it was getting bad. ~**

 **~ You weren't in any shape to communicate. ~**

 **~It wasn't just him they killed. ~** A particularly strong tremor racked his frame, **~ Ah miss 'em. ~**

He prodded him until Jazz finally lifted his helm, **~ Look at me. It's going to be alright. Things always get worse before they get better. ~** Against his better judgement he looped his arm over the Polyhexian's back and pulled him to optic level. **~ I mean come on, logically it has to stop raining sometime. ~**

Jazz seemed to take that as invitation to wrap arms around his midsection and _squeeze_. But he kept clicking.

Prowl hated feeling helpless and having the parts squeezed out of him but he let him stay put. Sometime later Jazz stopped clicking and pulled himself together until he seemed more like an exhausted version of his old self. He slumped awkwardly, hiccupping every now and then.

 **~ Better? ~**

Jazz nodded blearily, **~Did you lose anyone? ~**

 **~ I don't know, probably a lot. My sire for certain, I checked the feeds. ~**

 **~ Sorry. ~**

 **~ I'm not. ~** Prowl sent bitterly, knowing that inky resentment was being sent too. **~ Someone cleaved the slagger in half. I should thank them. ~**

The assassin looked disturbed, **~ Do you have** _ **any**_ **happy memories of your family? ~**

Prowl gave him a sideways glance and stood, **~ No. ~**

 **~ You're shaking. ~**

He didn't have time for this nonsense; he was going somewhere private before he really broke down. **~ I'll see you later. ~**

Instead, the floor came rushing up to greet him and Jazz dragged him by the ped back beside him.

 **~ At least let me pay you back. This was your first time seeing that kind of carnage, huh? ~**

A sick lurch swept his tanks that made the assassin retch as well.

 **~ Okay, then. Another time. ~** Jazz undid his wrist port before plugging his own cable home. **~ This isn't about keeping tabs on what you do for each other, it's a give and take. You're a part of the family now…what's left anyway. ~**

Prowl schooled his faceplates blank as the edges of his optics burned.

The Polyhexian gave a weak smile, **~ Carrier would have liked you. You're funny. ~**

 **~ You were saying about the memories? ~**

Jazz didn't press the issue, **~ Yeah, this one time we went to Althiex, not on a mission or anything just for fun as a family… ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Some joors later, Lockdown trailed behind Flamewar as she snuffed along the floor. They'd finally been able to ditch the newcomers and get themselves repaired. It made sense enough to try use the time to find the other two, relax, and train the steeljaw to do something other than stow energon. "Ya think she can find them? She didn't see where they went."

Arcee shrugged, "It's a controlled environment, best place to start with pups… unless of course she gets distracted."

The steeljaw growled, possibly scolding Arcee in her own hound language before returning to her tracking. She led them right to the stall Prowl had disappeared into but halted at seeing the two new guys peeking in.

"Oh great," he hissed, "Can't you just eat them?" he grumbled without thinking.

"Not unless you're gonna help. You see the size of that green one? Now shush, I wanna hear."

Sure enough, the flaming one was running his mouth.

"That Enforcer's insane for getting that close to him. He's even plugged in and recharging!" HotRod whispered. "I heard Meister was so screwed up even Ops couldn't handle him. So, they set him lose."

"And you think it's smart to talk about him here? Roddy, lets' _go_ , he has a twin."

"To where?" he bit hopelessly, "They can't be any worse than the Decepticons…" the flaming mechling paused for a nano. "I think I know why they're so close. Some Praxians trine like Seekers."

"Seriously, mech. Why do you care?"

HotRod never answered. "Hear me out, it's good for social, rank-climbing stuff. Bet his family must have paid dearly to be in with Meister's. They got a pretty raw deal though landing _that_ twin."

Springer hummed quietly in agreement and Arcee bristled at Hot Rod's next words.

"I mean Steppers fine…but Meister? Normally, if they have a bad operative they 'cut them loose'. It's like if you have a pet with the plague, you just take it out back and shoot it—"

The scrawny one flinched as Lockdown clapped a hard servo over his shoulder, "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing."

Lockdown didn't like how he reacted to things lately. It felt right, but not natural—not all of it felt like him. This case, though, was all his idea. He glared at Springer who was again reaching for his rifle, "Well, what are you half-bits gawking at? Show's over, frag off."

And the cadets heeded. Sometimes looking like a Decepticon actually came in handy.

"You got mad too?" Arcee ventured after they'd gone. "Have you known Jazz a long time?"

"Yep, we go back. Stepper wouldn't have wanted anyone picking on him for being off-beat."

She strolled past him into the stall, "Ah, the classic law: no one beats up my sibling but me."

"Pit straight." Lockdown rumbled.

Prowl and Jazz were propped up against each other, passed out, and oblivious to the world. Flamewar ran the remaining distance and leapt into Jazz's lap, making herself comfortable. They took up a spot opposite of the two.

Arcee immediately pillowed her helm on the non-spiked part of his shoulder, narrowly avoiding being dumped on the floor.

"What are you doing? The dipsticks aren't here."

The Terrorcon stubbornly wedged into his side, "I don't wanna put my helm the floor. Smells weird."

Lockdown was too bushed to argue and allowed it, frame sluggishly relaxing. Arcee's systems ran colder than the corpses they'd raided. That was a nice surprise; heat was the main reason he hated being crowded by 'formers.

She tapped a fist against his helm, "Hey, before you shut down. Why are you so mean to them?" she asked quietly.

That question came out of nowhere. "You're one to talk."

Arcee huffed, "I'm a terrible, ancient guardian of a sick world, I'm supposed to be angry. What's your excuse?"

"I don't know—I don't want friends."

She shoved him drowsily, "Well you don't always get what you want."


	27. Boon

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _none_

* * *

" **Boon** **"**

Their scientific outpost on the Sea of Rust was one of those bizarre places so isolated from civilization anything could happen but, unlike the Ferrin Depths, nothing ever did. Except explosions, those happened and were mostly caused by him. Minus that, nothing ever happened. At least that's what Wheeljack thought until an orn ago.

Wandering around outside his lab was a yellow and black sparkling. He'd been happy to see him, prattling on about a "rock cat" that sent him here. But when Jack had asked his designation the sparkling looked up, wide opticed and started clicking. He didn't know. The same was true for his parentages, age, or where he came from.

Surface analysis showed he was about five vorns, Praxian hybrid, and he spoke with a faint Kaonite accent. There was one other Praxian in the camp, Slider, and he blatantly called him a bad omen. Wheeljack decided to call him Bumblebee.

Things didn't stay peaceful for long. A joor after Bee was discovered, Uraya was attacked. Two cycles later Praxus fell and Polyhex was crippled. In a mega-cycle the sparkling had become the camp outcast. It hit him hard. As if having no memory wasn't bad enough now he had at least twenty adults against him. Oddly enough, that didn't stop him from doing as much as he could to get on their good side.

Bumblebee helped out as much as he could around camp, told jokes, and generally kept a bright, sunny personality.

When they were by themselves though, Wheeljack picked up on some strange habits. Bee loved sitting outside and watching the skies, as if he'd never seen them before. He had an endearing attachment to mechanimals most 'formers normally considered pests and target practice. He knew his way around an armory. He was good at sneaking around. He _understood_ parts of his scientific babble. It crossed Jack's processor more than a few times that this kid could be a spy—but if he were why wipe his all his memories? The 'Cons didn't do weak, so why send a terrified sparkling? There was no tactical advantage to sending him here of all places. Their outpost was out of the way of any unrest, quiet…safe.

The more he thought on it, the more he realized Bumblebee hadn't been planted but relocated. Some well meaning Decepticon sent him someplace safe before things got ugly. Maybe they weren't all psychopaths.

Wheeljack couldn't complain. He'd gotten a friend and lab assistant out of it.

He found him sitting outside again, optics firmly fixed on the dunes.

"Lookin' for your cat friend?"

Bee nodded, pulling his knees close to his chassis. "I don't think he's going to come back."

Wheeljack sighed. The description Bee gave of the cat and the fact it could speak only cemented 'Jack's suspicions. It was one of Soundwave's symbiotes. He wisely kept that information to himself and subtly urged Bee to do the same. "He didn't abandon you, y'know."

"I know. He's not that type—I think. Sometimes I almost remember something about before now, I can feel it, and then I forget it."

"That's perfectly okay, you're still recovering."

Bumblebee's faceplates crumpled and he bit his derma. "Jackie, can I just say you found me when I was littler? It hurts to remember."

He rubbed his helm ridge fondly, if it would help him feel at home, he'd be more than happy to. "Sure Bee."


	28. Burg

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Typical mayhem_ _in a collection of snapshots—and poor attempts at flirting_

 _Fall Out Boy_ — _The Kids Aren't Alright_

 _Two Door Cinema Club—What You Know_

* * *

" **Burg"**

 _A warm, slender servo mussed false audio horns. "Ah know you're up there."_

" _How?!"_

" _Yah too loud, love."_

" _Ahm never gonna get this…"_

" _Yah will."_

Prowl roused the memory file abruptly buffered, his helm smashed into Jazz's shoulder and limbs bent uncomfortably, namely the arm that was still connected. He stared at the cable. Nobody ever offered that and it left him feeling warm inside.

Then he realized he wasn't alone.

Arcee and Lockdown had parked themselves in front of them as a bored audience of two while HotRod was showboating much to Springer's visible chagrin. It gave them a little bit of privacy at least.

He tucked the offending limb underneath himself and viewed his HUD only to find Jazz had all but disconnected physically. The Polyhexian was wtill aware even when he was out of it… At least that meant he wouldn't have his processors scrambled. Prowl guessed the rest was just memory bleed. Like Jazz had said, they had to help each other. He disconnected then and folded Jazz's data cable back into his arm—narrowly escaping the booby trap inlaid in his frame that would have shocked him.

With Jazz out cold he could focus on the one ring circus unfolding before them.

"I got these from a trader, it's so cool! Watch this!"

The items in question were a pair of wrist mounted blasters that, he assumed, doubled as pipes in his alt mode. HodRod had clearly taken his name too literally. He then proceeded to warm the blasters until his servos caught aflame…then his arms…and his torso…and the rest of him. The cadet attempted to put himself out with little success, until Arcee whipped out a flame extinguisher to hose him down with foam.

The Terrorcon cocked her helm sideways, "Nice going, amateur, you almost set the whole building on fire."

"I'm still working out the kinks."

"Clearly," she hissed.

"You always carry flame retardant around?"

Arcee's optics dimmed the barest fraction and Prowl made the connection they must have been for Belloc's fire breathing mishaps.

"Force of habit," she said flatly, "I'm allergic to flaming idiots."

He shook the grey mixture of soot and ash off his frame, sitting back apparently unharmed. "You know I've never seen someone bounce back from a blaster round so quickly. You're in training too?"

"I lived in a bad neighborhood."

"Well," HotRod propped his helm up on one servo, "It just got ten times worse when you left. You must have been the best thing about it."

That—was the cheapest pickup line Prowl had ever heard—even Flamewar had pinned her audios back. Of course, that could have just been the fact she'd slid into his lap and he wasn't her favorite 'former. He doubted it though. A quick look around revealed Springer visibly praying for it to end and Lockdown bordering on laughter.

Arcee had the expression as if she'd swallowed something rancid. "No, actually it's burned to the ground now. Thanks for asking. I suppose your community is much happier now you're gone."

He smirked, "You're pretty feisty. Wanna go grab energon sometime?"

"No."

"Why not? Got a mechfriend or something?"

"Mind your own business."

When he kept staring, she threw the cannister with a resounding clang against the next wall. "You're not going to let this go, are you? No. I don't have one. Never have, and given that there's a distinct lack of 'formers with my personality, I probably never will. Frag off."

"Aw don't be so hard on yourself, you're too pretty."

Arcee remained unmoved. "You can tell all that from a glance, huh? Because that's all that matters, right? Let me tell you what I see. Immaturity, overconfidence, and a propensity for risky behavior, all of them horrible qualities. Also, you have parasites and I just don't like you. Lock, get those two up, we gotta leave soon. Good cycle, roadburn. Now get out."

Springer didn't hesitate to leave as soon as the door opened.

"You're mean…" HotRod mock whined before frowning, "Hey wait, parasites where?!"

He was met with the sharp crack of a slamming door.

Lockdown let out a low chuckle like the rumble of an oncoming storm. "Punks. Good entertainment though."

"Is that why you let them in here? For fun?"

"No, because until you claw half his faceplate off Hot Roach isn't going to give up and I want footage."

"He torques me off."

"Touched a sore spot?" he teased.

"I'll give you a sore spot." She perched the wrong way in a chair, door kibble rigid.

Lockdown mirrored her position, invading her personal space in a way that would have lost anyone else an optic. "C'mon, I spilled for you."

Arcee set up a steely golden optic glare, "Imagine you've been predestined to die alone in a dark cell."

"Not hard."

"And someone keeps dropping keys through the bars, but none of them will ever fit. That kinda thing makes you furious. Same for real life. What's the point in trying? People don't want 'formers like me as a friend or a mate. You guys nearly blew a fuse after you found out I—" She paused, glancing at the door. "Well, you know. They keep me around for mass carnage."

"You sound like Prowl," he stretched a ped, bumping her chair, "So yeah, freaks don't really have good chances at life and hope is for Tower residents…but where's the fun in not trying to get out? Life only sucks as bad as you want it to."

Arcee raised an optic ridge. "So, you're saying ignore the war outside and court that idiot?"

"No, he's a punk-aft skidplate with a bad paint job. All I'm saying is those two freaks made friends," he nodded at he and Jazz, at "Why can't you?"

Arcee's explanation came out in an uncharacteristic rush, "Because one cycle I might wake up and kill everyone in a seven-tick radius."

The green mech paused for a nano. "O-kay. I can't one-up you on that…but I might lose it eventually. All I'm saying is don't give up on life yet. You've always got cell neighbors."

Prowl then saw something he didn't think existed outside of the cheesy romantic comedies his carrier used to watch. Arcee had a non-predatory, smile of genuine openness, jagged fangs and all. Lockdown on the other hand didn't seem discontent or pissed off for once, just docile with folded arms on the back of the chair hiding his mouth.

They were acting warm and friendly and despite logically knowing what meant, Prowl knew his naïveté shone through. What was going on was weird, it felt wrong, he didn't like it, and wanted it to stop.

He gave up pretending to be in recharge, "And here I thought you guys were all rage and no mercy."

The Terrorcon flinched, "Oh _great._ "

"I didn't pound you for not shutting up back at the bar. That counts." Lockdown grouched, shooting him a dirty look for daring to ruin—whatever was going on.

Prowl sat up, "HotRod isn't that bad. He seems tolerable."

Arcee put a hand to her hip, "Only cause he's another badge wearer and you weren't forced to make nice for five joors."

He rolled optics and pushed Jazz, "Hey, get up."

The Polyhexian slid off his shoulder and Prowl rushed to prop him up against the wall. Only now did he realize the bond was numb, there was no comm signal; Jazz was in stasis. He rattled his limp frame exactly once before he went into panic mode. "Arcee, he's not waking up."

"I was wondering when that was going to happen, glad it's now." She crouched in front of the unconscious mechling, "He's not going to be up for a good while. Full reset. We dumped like five phials of nitro in him. With all the system stress I'm surprised he stayed online this long. Ops has quality coding."

Arcee turned to him, "What about you? You good?"

He really didn't want to answer that. It wasn't that he felt lousy or suicidal…just…at peace with himself finally. Being around people was nice. Having some form of bond was nice. Not being ostracized was amazing. Was this what having friends felt like?

"Not an essay question, nerd. On a scale of 'kinda lousy' to 'death's door frame', how are you?" she reiterated.

So, he showed his appreciation. "Aw, you're actually concerned about your prey? That's sweet."

"He's feeling fine." Lockdown snorted.

The femme hissed, "Not after I wring his skinny little neck, he won't."

Prowl brushed off the hard shove to his shoulder plating. "That's assuming you'd be able to catch me without using that EM distortion trick."

"Hoy, that's fighting talk, I'll paralyze you," she bantered, "Don't get the big helm, half of your back-up is in stasis."

"You're the only non-hunter here and you got the nerve to pick on someone more skilled." Lockdown said.

"I can fight."

"Not well enough to—" the green mech stopped himself short, "Not well enough."

Somewhere in his core Prowl knew what Lockdown was going to say: "to not get pounded by your old mech".

"Yeah," Prowl said mutely, "Cabal was always faster."

Lockdown grunted, the sound brimming with what he'd learned was feigned nonchalance, "We gotta fix that then."

Somewhere in the background Arcee started 'humming' to distract,an eerie, shrill sound somewhere between uniquely sonorous and plating tingling spooky.

The green mech looked up, shrugged, and went back to what he was doing.

Not too long ago, Lockdown was terrified of the mention of legendary mechanisms of Cybertron, now he was making optics at one. If that was the madness adulthood brought on Prowl wanted to take a serious look at the terms and conditions. They'd changed since The Center, in some ways for the better. He looked down remorsefully at his servos and the acid pistol Lockdown had finally returned. In other ways the changes had been for the worst.

That train of thought brought with it a memory and a question, "Lock, can I ask you something personal?"

"Make it quick."

"Why'd you ask if Deadlock knew a mech named Walker or Lance?"

"Cause I'm a bastard." He answered without missing a beat.

Arcee snorted, "You said it, I didn't. That's good! The first step to healing is to admit you have a problem."

"Not what I meant and you know it, Pinky… Nobody will tell me what happened but Tsui and I didn't have the same sire as the rest of my siblings. The most I've ever heard is he was my carrier's ex."

"Oh…" That type of case left far too many implications, each more questionable than the last, none of which would ever be safe enough to ask the other mechling.

Arcee made an uncomfortable noise, "This is why I like being adopted. No hinky family connections. Whoever he was, he might be dead or in hiding. That's the one thing I respect about vehicle modes though, the clan brawls if there's infidelity."

"There's a reason why the percentages are in the low sixes," Prowl said balefully.

She chuckled, "Our builds are related after all."

Never one to want to dwell on his past Lockdown cleared his vents, "Alright your turn. You got any family secrets, nerd?"

"My first-cousin's a Seeker."

The femme clapped her servos and rattled off something in Predus he'd never understand, "I had a hunch."

"Figures, I'd keep that quiet too. Stuck up fliers." Lockdown frowned, "I thought you Praxians hated Seekers?"

Hate was a strong word, but he didn't go out of his way to talk to them either.

"Nobody likes Seekers _but_ Seekers and one of my misguided relatives apparently." Prowl deadpanned, "What about Predacons?"

Arcee gave a raunchy smirk that had the doorwinger wishing he'd stayed quiet.

"That's the thing about being looked down on, whoever falls through the social ranking winds up with us. Hybrids, outliers, fliers, rejected vehicle modes, Terrorcons—most non-purist Predas now _get friendly with_ everyone."

Something like a vice clamped down on his throat and his frame heated. It took a klick to realize it was his doing out of embarrassment and not one of the Terrorcon's freakish abilities.

When he didn't speak, Lockdown snickered.

Arcee bit her derma, not in the least bit sorry, "That came out weird, didn't it?"

"Yup. You broke his poor, innocent processor."

"Good. It's hard to translate but when caste is stripped away you start to see all that matters is the 'former beneath. Life's more fun with a blend."

"Spade didn't seem to think so." Prowl commented.

"She is—was—a purist. A lot of vehicle-modes hurt her, but, hey, nobody's right about everything."

"Is that why you talk to me?" the green mech accused, still in play.

"Nah, because you're the only one that's conscious most of the time and you don't make my helm ache."

"I know why you get along. I think Iaconians had you two in mind when they came up with the term _folie a deux_ ," Prowl shot back, his own teasing smirk crossing his plates.

Arcee held her chin higher, "Speak standard Cybertronian for the 'formers in the back."

"Madness of two. You're both cracked."

Lockdown gave him the second rudest gesticulation he'd ever seen and Arcee looked between he and Jazz shaking her helm.

The banter continued without the bite and aggression they'd once had.

Like friends.

Prowl would have been suspicious if anyone ever made an attempt at being friendly. The last time had to have been in grade school.

As he adjusted his new plating a strange thought crossed his mind. "Lockdown?"

The green mech paused in the middle of twisting the kinks out his mismatched replacement arm, "What now?"

"We've been out here so long and I don't know what you like. What's your hobby?"

"Modifying, not dying is my career."

He frowned, that weird out-of-frame sensation prickling his mind. "Are you sure you don't like crystal propagation? You make it into different patterns? It sounds interesting, will you teach me?"

Lockdown jerked up, ruby optics searching his own defensively as if he'd stolen something. "I never told anyone that!"

Arcee dropped something heavy she'd been attempting to fit back into subspace.

"Just like Jazz knew about Hyra," she supplied gloomily, holding up a stolen pad with the info scrolling across the screen: "Terror in Hyra". She dropped to sit in between them, rust stick partially hanging out of her mouth. "When you were talking to Spade, you guys said that you ran into an empty town and Shockwave's abandoned lab. Pretty sure I know where everyone went."

Lockdown sat up, "They were experimented on, now they're being set loose."

"Probably a distraction. The strain you all encountered wasn't contagious, even through energon it would just cause a painful death. Shockwave is a sadist but he wouldn't unleash a deadly plague with no stopping point. Too big a risk it'll get to the wrong people and since Dcons are so widespread there's no sure way an antidote could be dispensed to everyone."

"Didn't know they cared so much." The green mech bit out, collecting Flamewar from where she was attempting to teeth on a chair leg.

"They don't," Prowl said quietly. "It's a test and the subjects die out like the turbofoxes. Next time it'll be major viral warfare. If he's as smart as they say he probably had more than one virus in that bunker. Question is, what exactly did we contract?"

Arcee sighed, "I'll do full checkups for everyone in Letalis. We're almost clear. Hold it together a little longer, but do me a favor. You start getting the urge to bite people let me know."

Prowl didn't remember the ride to Letalis, just various flashes of light, warmth, and Lockdown or Arcee waking him for energon. The next time he was conscious he was walking into an apartment building with Jazz magnetized to his back.

He leaned on the counter with blurry optics and saw the exact younglings they thought they'd left in Hyra.

Each party glared for a solid klik before groaning.

"Not you two again..." Arcee grumbled.

HotRod seemed to be the only one pleased with the situation, "Miss us, sweetspark?"

The femme's right optic twitched violently. She started fumbling for her daggers only to have Lockdown nudge her.

"No, too many witnesses." the spiky mechling objected. He mustered a belligerent tone, "You following us, punk?"

"It's still a free planet!"

By then a bulky, slate armored femme leaned over the apartment management's countertop, "This isa faction free zone. I don't care wha cha are: yah fight, yah get tossed out on ya audio."

Prowl winced. She had a drawling Myrmecoite accent that burbled like a scrambling transmission, burning his audios and making Flamewar whine.

"Y'all Bots or Cons or both?"

"They're Autopunks, rest of us are neutrals." Arcee offered, shooting HotRod a stale glare.

Given that hostile interaction the landlord asked the next, most obvious question. "How many flats you need?"

Prowl shifted the recharging form on his back. "How much is one?"

She propped her helm up on one servo. "700 a megacycle."

Everyone cringed.

Judging from her steady gaze of suspicion she didn't think too highly of them already. Fighting in front of her hadn't helped their case. The long, blue, biolight-lit tear lines that started at her optics and ran past her cheeks crinkled with impatience. "If ya can't cut it there're refugee centers on the outskirts of town. Last thing I need is a buncha rowdy younglings up at all joors."

Yeah, she just wanted them gone.

"Now's a really bad time to be breaking off on your own, who set ya loose?"

Lockdown made some derisive noise, "You always ask this many questions? I don't know about them but we're covered."

The femme side-eyed him, "Watch yer tone, kid."

In a stunning reversal of spark, HotRod spoke up. "Can we bunk with you guys?"

Lockdown sneered, "What makes you think-"

"Sure," Prowl blurted out without thinking, "700 flat rate for six and a pet?"

"Fine. Rents due at the end of the orn. No parties, fights, friends, or extra pets. Be quiet after midnight. No loud music, ah got someone to take care of that department. I catch y'all up to anything illegal you're out. Clear? Right. M' designations Beryl. You're on level 3, room 996."

He was going to get the fifth degree from Lockdown and Arcee _and_ Jazz, when he finally rebooted, for offering the Autobots a place to stay. But... It would be a great cover if they were going to bounty hunt and continue their trek.

The actual 'flat' was more like an open area with a pile of dividers in the corner. The first matter of business was sectioning off their own rooms and the flat turned into a maze with one empty room in the center. Doors closed and Prowl was left alone with Jazz in their shared room. They didn't have a berth so he let him sprawl out on the floor and he sat next to him.

Finally, some privacy—and all the nightmares that came with it.

He stared at his servos. He'd killed people with those…and this time it wasn't a rampaging experiment. He'd just shot indiscriminately to clear a path.

Drowsy, dark servos grabbed one of his arms. **~ How do you think I feel at the end of a cycle? ~** Prowl let himself get pulled to his front, nestled against Jazz's side. **~ Think like this: it was all wrong place, wrong time. It doesn't make you a bad person. ~**

Prowl tucked a wing over the Polyhexian, wedging him further into his side. **~ Recharge. ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Flamewar huffed. It took forever to get here on a long transport, but they were in a new den now with many levels and new 'formers and the same two mechs from earlier. They stayed in their section of the den.

She took turns sitting on 'formers that made too much noise.

Green was clicking locked in his mini den. He pretended he didn't when the others came around, but he was bad at hiding symptoms. He acted like one of her littermates that was too attached to the ones that vanished. The spiky 'former would come in and hide in the furthest corner as a thing-with-engine. She laid still on his hood, comforting. When he wasn't spazing out, Flamewar went to check on the rest of their pack.

Directly behind the opposite wall, Blue and Black were coiled up so tightly they looked like a pile of spare parts. They shivered occasionally so she sat in and on the little crannies their frames left.

She always had to scratch to get Pink to open up. Pink was sitting in her beast mode, black coiling around her body with her head in the corner, the wall covered in slashes. So Flamewar sat on her tail.

The other two here weren't pack. They insisted on petting her though, no matter how many bites they got in return. She'd never admit it but the extra attention was nice.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Lockdown mused that this arrangement was nice, someone was always there to watch the room. Today was his turn. There wasn't anything to do though, aside from make sure Jazz was still online. Plenty of time to relax—a little bit. They had taken a hit financially between the tram and renting. They were all going to have to get side jobs.

A light tapping alerted him that someone was at the door.

Beryl walked in on her own, dropping a box of things before pausing in their common area. "Scrap, y'all aint got nuthin!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Checkin' up." She dug out a subspaced table, still packed into its cube-like shape, and began unfurling it. "When I said be quiet, I didn't mean play dead. Chu all barely come out. Thought ya might be sick ur somthin'." She squeaked as the furniture took on its true, weathered form and placed the overflowing box atop it. "Figured you all might need some stuff. Got some tables an berths, there might be a cube table in there somewhere… Most 'formers have stuff when they move. You're on the run aren't ya?"

Lockdown shrugged.

"Was it one of those city raids?"

"Yes, and we're fine."

Beryl leaned past him, "What about the little guy the Praxian had with him?"

"He's getting over a virus, Arcee checks up on him." he ground out, "So what do you want for the stuff?"

"Nothin. Just a name." She offered a servo.

He reluctantly took it, "Lockdown."

She twisted his left arm tenderly, "Well you're nothing but a newspark! Your friends as young?"

"Yup."

Beryl huffed, "Ya don talk much. Thas fine, ah'll mind my own. Everything has gone tah pit but I still like to keep an optic on younger residents. Tah tell the truth…ah live a floor beneath you all. Got kinda worried when I heard muffled clicking." There was an uncomfortable pause and she ex-vented. "Ya ever want something else gimme a holler I'll see what I can find in the trash."

"Wait, where?!"

She offered an ecstatic smile, "Tha dumpsters. Yah'd be surprised what 'formers pitch out!"

"700 credits a megacycle and we get trash furniture?"

"You're welcome, 'm broke too."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Safe was a bad word to Jazz. Thinking you were safe got you killed. It was a myth anyways; there was never such thing. Case in point, the city they were in was called "death" and they were in an apartment building potentially neighboring with other assassins. It sure beat recharging in parks, though.

Still. Safe was the feeling that radiated through his spark. That made no sense. He kept getting phantom pains from dead bonds and desperate calls from the few left over. Mostly they were distant, civilian relatives or linked by bond; Jazz elected to keep his distance. With Prowl his spark felt stable. Prowl let him poke and prod to strengthen it occasionally reaching out himself. He had to give the Praxian credit, he knew squat about bonds, but he was willing. It was something comforting about latching on to that constant, lonely signal and being its sole focus that felt good.

He'd slept every joor and Arcee's coddling, and probable sedation, didn't help matters. During the rare times he was alert Prowl would either be a few inches away or Arcee was reviewing his vitals. The first time he woke up properly in Letalis, Prowl was still nestled beside him doorwing folded over his back. He grinned sloppily before pushing the other youngling, "Prowl…Personal space. It's too hot."

The Praxian grunted and rolled over, promptly hitting the floor. It seemed they'd upgraded to a berth while he'd been out of it.

"Jazz? You're up?" Prowl slurred.

"Uh huh," he said, offering him a servo.

"You've been out for an orn. How do you feel?"

"Hungry."

"I—I'm glad you're better," Prowl sent a clumsy flare that was the bond equivalent of a pat on the shoulder.

Jazz didn't chance giving him a hug, instead returning the sensation. "Thank you."

A scrape of metal heralded Arcee stumbling in to their room, palm buried into her faceplate as she rubbed recharge from her optics. "Prowl, the walls are thin. Be— ," she trailed off, instead bursting forward to inspect Jazz. "You're awake, small one?"

"I am now..."

Blunted digits checked him over, "You're looking much better."

"Thanks."

"Any intrusive thoughts?"

She just had to ask. Jazz played with his servos to avoid looking her in the optics, "Nothing I can't handle."

"I see..." Arcee hummed, "Prowl, watch over him. It would be an opportune time to test out the limits of your bond."

"We have." He grumbled.

"It hurts to talk."

The Terrorcon gave a solemn nod, "Given the amount of trauma surrounding it I'm not surprised. Keep trying."

Arcee took hold of his helm, tilting it this way and that before letting out a quiet squeal and wrapping her arms around him, "You're so adorable!"

"Quit squeezing him!"

She clung to the Polyhexian tighter, "You're just mad it's not you."

Lockdown strolled in and gave him a vicious helm rub as he was suffocating, "You don't have to let her harass you like that."

In response he let his white and blue frame go limp, "I like hugs. You two suck at it."

"I rather get my arm cleaved off again." Lockdown grouched, flopping down in front of the berth.

Arcee made herself at home on the floor, stretching herself out like a flat-cat before she transformed. If he'd blinked Jazz never would known she wasn't a vehicle mode. She was still bipedal but her frame was spiky, pale, and tailed again.

"Scrap, femme!"

"You're not going to recharge somewhere else?"

The bizarre looking femme raised her helm, "No. Spark energy reduces the amount of recharge terrors one has. And I'm pretty sure one of you is going to wake up screaming again."

She rolled over face to the wall, "Don't make this weird, its late and I'm sore. We can sleep in a pile. Predas do it all the time."

"But we're not."

"Well we are family, that makes it fine." She muttered, _"_ Try anything you'll be missing an arm. _Zidòl frè."_ (idiot brothers)

"HEY!" Lockdown barked.

Jazz settled among the other three as they carried on arguing half-sparkedly and rearranging themselves.

He could get used to this.

* * *

 _ **PSA:**_ _Go watch_ "Bumblebee".

 _Seriously. It's good._

 _I'll explain—no spoilers._

 _It gives you the warm fuzzies and the smileys in the vein of Iron Giant, Next Gen, TFA, and Brave Police._

 _It's what I think of when you say "a coherent TF movie" both plot wise and visually. The characters, human and Transformer alike, were agreeable._

 _You won't feel bad for taking small children to it. The ones in the theater were having an awesome time as were the kids-at-heart. A friend of mine, who's super into G1 and Bayverse, teared up as did his femme and my carrier (they're not even fans), my sire's excited to eventually see it, and my teenybopper sister…tolerated it. Fun for all._

 _Truthfully, I'm more in love with the concept of Transformers than most of the media around it. Like how the various series can range from "campy and kid-friendly" to "brutal and all too real" and all the tones in between. The fact they give the robots personalities, cultures, and origins rather than making them human inventions. How interesting the transformation sequence is on-screen and in toy form. And, of course, the cheesy jokes thrown in that I laugh at harder than I probably should._

 _It's just fun to think about._

 _But this movie? For the first time in a while, it felt like someone behind the scenes actually cared about the series and what it means. That made me really happy._

 _That's how you make a live action TF movie with heart._


	29. Beneath

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Typical mayhem_ _in a collection of snapshots_

 _Skrillex—With Your Friends (Long Drive)_

 _Panic! At the Disco & Fun. _– _C'mon_

* * *

" **Beneath"**

A mega cycle later, Arcee used an errand run as an excuse to go off alone and hunt. It was always hard to find mechanimals near high-traffic areas, Uraya had a beautiful subterranean selection. Letails was busier so she had to travel further out. Now, deep in a fissure she'd been fortunate enough to find a wandering stag. She'd been successful this time, but prey was getting harder to find. This forested area in between several cities should have been full of creatures. It wasn't and a painfully familiar scent permeated the area. Her sensors picked up the burnt circuitry of an older 'former combined with something else, something odd that smelled like …her.

Arcee was startled as a green-yellow, smoking lump crashed to the ground before her. The Terrorcon skirted the crash site deciding whether to attack or move away. As it happened, it was a chopper. The resounding groan confirmed it was sentient and what she identified as Springer transformed, sitting up in a daze.

So, he was a triple changer… They weren't rare or anything, just awkward looking. No wonder he was so huge.

Springer seemed to realize where he was in stages. The dank air. The high walls. The scent of spilled energon. Her bright yellow optics.

The cadet slowly backed away, arm reaching back to grab a massive blaster. She groaned internally. Where was he getting these guns?! Her EM field extended outward like icy digits, freezing his motor controls.

"NoW wHeRe wOuLd tHe fUn Be wItH ThAt?" Arcee transformed herself to all fours and roared, "YoU dArE TrEsPaSs?!"

Distorting fields had the unfortunate effect of inducing hallucinations and terror, hence her build's name. Without the EM, a typical Tcon looked like a featureless Transformer depending on the region—in her case a pleasing cross between a saurian and a felid. With the field, a 'former's worst fears could be projected in the Terrorcon they saw before them.

She imagined what he saw before him was a vision of underworld horror, something to be shot. Her unassuming quadruped form had jaws splayed in warning. Not that he could see her. All he probably saw was a writhing black mass. His vents were pounding, desperately struggling to dispel the heat from his frame.

This was too much fun. She hadn't scared someone into stasis in forever. Considering she'd probably have to treat him if she screwed his processors up, she'd settle for making him leak. His motor controls glitched their last as his back met the wall and he dropped his weapon.

"It's been a long while since I've had one with a spark as strong as yours," she crooned with a soft rasp. "Stop resisting, I'll make it quick."

Arcee was impressed he hadn't had a panic attack by now. He kept gasping for ventilation but never fully succumbed. It took a few vocalizer resets but he finally managed to speak. In ancient Cybertronian, of all things. The stuff their kind had still used when the planet was still vibrant.

" _Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni bong."_

And just like that any though of mauling went out of her helm. She broke into peals of laughter distorted by her field. "You get—pbbht! You get a pass. I haven't heard that in a while! What's your designation?"

"Sp-Springer. Just Springer."

She reverted, fully dropping her EM, and wiping whatever energon that was left over from her mouth, "You've been raised by an ancient one, haven't you?"

Springer frowned, derma sealed. If he wasn't going to give her an answer, she'd find out herself. A vision change gave her the answers faster than torturing out of the 'former. "You two are close and he's waiting for you, as is your—brother?"

"It's complicated," he said curtly, apparently not phased at all by her sensors, like he'd seen this all before.

"Believe me, I have seen stranger. How'd you crash?"

"I got shot in the air," Springer winced, "But you should see the other guy."

"With that big, honkin' Autobot sigil on your chest, I'm not surprised." She began to scale the walls of the hole, "Come on then, we'll get you back to them. Can you walk?"

Springer seemed to realize he was still dented up from his crash landing. He pushed himself away from the wall with a shaky sway, left ankle giving dangerously. Then he sprang vertically, landing a bit higher than she.

"Your designation is a little on-the-olfactory," she said, "But at least it makes sense."

"Oh yeah, then what's yours, buddy?"

"I used to be called Halfcut." She said.

"Cute name for a Terrorcon," he stopped, "Why are you helping me?"

"Dunno. I'm running with some normies like you, they freak out if I even joke about eating sentients. I'm getting soft."

"Good for me, then."

She grasped him by one wrist and helped hoist him to the lip of the hole. "Don't mention it. I have a reputation to keep."

He glanced back down into the gully, "You're not going to finish?"

"You know where I am now, I have to move."

"So, what do I owe you, Arcee?"

Said femme lost her grip, nearly plummeting back down and Springer pulled her back to a handhold. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"I _know_ you're Arcee." He folded his arms, smugly leaning backward with his peds jammed into the wall. "A wild Terror would've eaten me, but then again, they wouldn't be in someone else's territory hunting. You forgot to distort your voice at points so it's the same and you've got pink streaks on your face."

With a terrible rushing noise, she took on her bipedal vehicle mode form before pulling herself over the edge. "Slaggit all."

He followed her up, "You're too cocky. Not everyone is Terror illiterate, so really _you_ owe _me._ "

She let her fangs peek out in a grimace and strode off. "You know the law. Your silence and a favor at a later date."

"You didn't ask what I want."

"Not waking up with my daggers in your spark would be ideal, don't you think?"

"You could fix my ped?!" Springer yelled at her retreating back, "See you at home, then."

After that botched attempt at terrorizing, Arcee cleaned up, went home, and found a pale spot just beneath her left-wing kibble. There went the shreds of her good mood. Her guise was cracking and it was the one thing Spade never knew how to fix. Time was running out.

Arcee didn't recharge that lunar cycle. She needed answers. So, she rose, made sure the others were in unaware and headed for the front door.

" _Yi."_

The Terrorcon threw a glance over her shoulder to see beady lavender optics staring back at her. She hissed at pup, "Not now, go back to Lockdown."

" _Yi,"_ Flamewar said again, stubby tail thrashing as she waddled to the door.

Arcee blocked the way, "I said: GIT!"

There was a sickening crunch from one of Flamewar's paws and the Terrorcon rushed to pull her ped back. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't click."

Flamewar let out a spark-breaking wail and she scooped the hound up, trying to shut her up.

Somewhere down the hall Springer groaned, "Lockdown…your pet… Get your pet!"

"You little pipsqueak—," the dark, flame printed mechling stumbled in, rubbing at faceplate. He looked up and spotted her, "Pinky?"

"I stepped on her paw."

Flamewar whimpered pitifully and Arcee was all to eager to hand her over.

"You're not that hurt, pet," she grumbled.

Lockdown allowed her to cuddle beneath the fold of one arm. His optics brightened as he began to put two and two together. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Lockdown stared. It was something he was incredibly good at it, he'd mastered looking right through people. He reminded her a lot of a reptilian the way his face didn't emote—Maybe it was the spines...

He finally frowned and walked around back of her, "Your wings bugging you?"

"One of them."

"You sensitive like a Praxian?"

"No—" To her surprise he pushed her left kibble up and away from her back, digit landing on the flaking spot on the first try. "Is that bad?"

"Honestly, I don't know, paint isn't going to cover this one." The tingling sensation spread across her sensor grid like nuzzle and against her better judgement, she relaxed.

Lockdown made a thoughtful noise, "What do you need?"

She never got a chance to answer as the other green mech called from the back of the flat. "So, what's wrong with your mutt?" At that moment, Springer decided to walk in and judging by the jerking of his frame, immediately wished he hadn't. "I didn't see anything."

"Didn't see wha-" HotRod trotted in taking the slyest expression. "I _knew_ it. I KNEW IT! Springer you owe me fifty credits!"

"Shut it, Roddy!"

"But seriously the walls are really thin, so could you—"

Springer wrestled the skinny mech into a chokehold. "Look, we've lived in barracks, you don't have to explain yourselves. We're just going to head back here…"

"Nothing's going on!" Lockdown snapped. Yet in all his anger he didn't think to let her kibble go. His digits were burning up and there were minute tremors going through his servo. Nervous. Oddly enough, she didn't mind it. Partly because it felt nice, partly because she had no shame. Too bad it had to be in front of a pair of gawking idiots.

By now Jazz came in, dragging Prowl behind him. "We got rust. Making a night run," he chirped, scooping up Flamewar on his way out. Since waking, he'd made it a point to be friendlier toward the cadets. Only Springer had been smart enough not to take the bait.

HodRod, instead, played along. "You're all going?"

"If you travel in packs yah less likely to get jumped."

Prowl rubbed his optics, "Why are you all yelling?"

His visor flashed in good humor, "I told you, they just walked in on 'em feeling each other up."

"I said: NOTHING IS GOING ON!"

"Then give me my kibble back," Arcee said flatly.

There were three hard knocks from the floor below them. "Glad you're feeling better, but talk in the morning."

There were a chorus of "Sorry, Beryl" and a long pause as they waited for the femme to stop listening in on them.

"Hey," HotRod commented, "We were checking out the town and I saw her in a dumpster…"

That caught Jazz's attention, "Really?"

"Yup. Our landlord's a dumpster diver."

"I gotta get out more," the sometimes assassin sighed.

"There's an empty stretch of road a couple kliks out. Wanna race?"

"Only if you're prepared to lose, Roddy. Catch you in the morning!" he grinned swinging out the door.

Arcee was quick to follow behind the Poly. "Go ahead, I know you're curious. Get it out of your system."

Jazz rushed them down the stairs towards ground level, still hauling Prowl. "Nah," he started, vocalizer barely a whisper, "If you don't wanna talk, you don't have to." Half his visor blinked out in a wink.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's when the best stuff happens. I wouldn't have picked him if I were you though… The mech's _weird_."

She frowned, "What is it with you and Lock? You act like you two can't stand each other."

"Friends out of convenience."

"Huh. He sure was worried about you while you were sick."

Jazz missed a step on the narrow staircase nearly taking everyone down with him. He looked around before speaking, "Because he lost his twin the same way. That's enough to mess anyone up—and I remember watching him thinking I'd never be like that: completely broken."

"And?"

"So far, I'm not."

"Seems like you two would have made an alliance being two halves."

"Bond physics," Prowl muttered, "It's balance and stuff."

"Heh, don't let anyone tell you you're slow on the uptake." Jazz smiled, turning back to Arcee. "You need balance in anything. We match cuz Prowl is boring and I'm not, Springer an HotRod match cuz they're used to each other, and you and Lock match in a different way. You're the same, an it works."

"Emo physics," said Lockdown's disembodied voice, startling no one.

They were crude explanations for the way their bonds worked, but it would do.

"So that means we wanna hang out, but you two wanna suck face," the Praxian slurred, just alert enough to know what he was saying judging by that stupid grin.

Arcee snarled, "I'd be quiet, Prowly. You are all worse than gossiping femmes!"

"Prowlers one of us now, need someone else to tease." Jazz said.

At the lobby, Lockdown held the door open for the Terrorcon and Prowl made a noise like he'd ingested bad fuel.

"You two are disgusting."

"You sure you and Jazz don't have your ages switched? Don't knock it, nerd, 'till you've tried it."

"Yeah, how do you think you got here?" she taunted.

"Arranged bonding."

"Explains a lot." Lockdown sniped, "So which one of your parentages was the drone?"

Before they could gear up for a not-so-friendly verbal spar Jazz huffed air out of his vents. " _Sparklings!_ Can we do this when it's not dark…darker I mean. We're not all up because we need a metallurgist."

Arcee took the lead, the squirt had a point, "It looks like my guise is cracking. I'm going to only place that can jog my memory."

"The lower levels?" Lockdown asked.

"Yup, field trip time, everybody."

They had to go in through a sewer system and climb down several tics. It was rough going but she had to give them credit, they held in there. Smoggy sky turned to dark, smooth metal, sparse bioluminescent fauna, and abrupt drop offs.

Lockdown's ped slipped into a hole and some slippery creature came out with it. "Arcceeeee…."

She learned in, "Cool, I haven't seen one of those in vorns!"

"Here," he ripped the squid-like creature off and dropped it into her arms, "When. Are. We. Getting. There."

"Just a little further, "She tossed it back into its burrow and clapped a slimy servo on his shoulder, just managing to avoid the spikes.

"You said that before!" Jazz complained, "Somethin' dripped in my gears that don't feel right!"

"I swear if you get sick again…" Prowl murmured, "Seriously, Cee, how much further?"

"Buncha city-'formers." Arcee's peds finally landed somewhere that felt right. "We're here."

She led them into a network of stalagmite-like metal projections and she sat still, tucked among the metal spires that supported a huge chamber.

Jazz looked around, sarcasm heavy in his voice, "Wow, a big hole in the ground! Amazing!"

Prowl and Lockdown stifled snickers.

"I'll give the acoustics a ten, but this sucks. I wanna go home."

He was jerked off balance as Arcee dragged him down to sit. "If you'll withhold your judgement… Something cool is going to happen."

No sooner had she said it than a metallic tang rose from the depths, uniting with the waves from above and igniting thousands of small, glowing, nearly white spheres throughout the cavern.

Prowl laid flat with his helm pillowed on his arms, "I've read a lot but never anything like this. What _is_ it?"

" _Scintillam agri_ ," Arcee tilted her helm, "Something everyone forgot once we started living on the surface. The ancients used to call them spark fields, where the first Transformers came from, y'know the thirteen clans and all their descendants. Whether it's true or not is anyone's guess. They're natural occurrences all over the planet. It doesn't happen so much anymore. If we're going to leave, I wanted you all to see this. The last of the best Cybertron has to offer."

Her optics closed, quietly rehashing what she knew. "You know they said there was a meeting between Predacons and Dreads over how to combat a great evil that had taken over the planet and before they could finish misshapen creatures wandered upon them with the body of a vehicle mode and the internals like that of an organic monster. The last build of Transformer."

"What was the evil?" Jazz asked quietly.

Only then did she realize she had graduated from a having a death grip on Jazz's arm to hugging him as if he were going to vanish… and her spark was flooded with the sense of nostalgia.

"Sorry."

The Polyhexian gave the bond equivalent a pat, "It's okay."

The bond illiterate and damaged one didn't do much in the way of replying.

Arcee restarted the conversation, "So yeah, it was…aliens? Organics? Take your pick. I don't even think they knew."

"So, your build's claim to fame is that of a guardian," Prowl nodded.

"Pit straight, we're the original Enforcers. Then the Dreads became…" she trailed off, "Like a backup guard. They're not really a build, they're more of a faction; they modify themselves to be alien looking. Now that there's no one else left—the Dreads will take over again. We're in bad shape if they have to."

"That's all you got?" Lockdown asked.

"Yup. It figures I can remember everything _but_ what to do about my kibble. But, hey, the view was nice."

"Cee, is Cybertron dying?" Jazz whispered.

"It may be." She answered mutely, "And there's a good chance I will too, that or I'll go crazy and turn into a voracious monster or lose my abilities and become normal. Nobody knows for sure. Fuel for thought."

"How do you know all this?"

She shrugged, wiping at the cyan tears pooling in her optics, "Part of its Preda lore, other parts I just do. I learned a long time ago, I think. Spade brought me down here to remember a few times. I never did."

The small youngling allowed himself to be hugged even tighter for a brief moment before she straightened, finally releasing him. "We should go. It isn't good to stay down here too long these cycles. You touch one of those lights, you die."

Prowl yanked his servo back from one of the spheres, narrowly missing getting his systems fried, "Besides that, it's so beautiful down here..."

Arcee dusted herself off as the glow died down, "Yeah, between that and the charge down here it's a great spot to interface."

"Arcee!"

She raised an optic ridge, "What? It's true!"

Prowl's wings slammed down flat on his back, "Why are you like this?"

"Because you three are wimps. C'mon, don't you have a race tomorrow, Jazz?"

Lockdown stayed put, optics transfixed on the dimming lights around them. She tilted her helm, poor thing. She'd run bloodwork and he hadn't been nearly as much of a unique find as she thought, just an offbeat vehi-mode missing his twin. That wasn't too bad. Personality and spark covered a multitude of problems.

She leaned over his back, putting them face-to-face albeit upside-down, "Hey, Lock? Time to go."

He snapped out of his self-induced trance, "Huh? Oh...sure."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **Still in the cavern, not too far away**

After so many vorns, there was another bloom. It was always nice to sneak down and see. You never knew when it would be the last time with the planet so frail. As a bonus, there was actually another Terrorcon here…drawn by the pull of the discharge. He looked over the fact she'd brought non-Terrors with her. All types of packs were forming now.

It was so strange seeing another after so long. They were all supposed to be dead like himself. Yet there was a little, pink newbuild with a wiped processor laughing and joking before him. He supposed whoever in her clan that had reached her last had done her a favor by destroying her memory. No one deserved to remember the sheer brutality of that purge—except maybe himself.

He watched them go in silence and then left for his own pack.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Recharging for an orn did stuff to your processor, like insomnia...especially insomnia.

Jazz lurked around Lockdown's door out of nothing better to do. His processors would let him rest.

As if he'd been summoned, the green mech wrenched it open. "What?!"

"I'm bored."

"Go bug Prowl."

Jazz made a face, "He's showing Springer a flick."

"I thought he didn't watch normal movi—" he stopped himself, "It's something related to history aint it?"

"Yessss and it's boring as watching paint dry. Matter of fact it _is_ about drying paint. Ah wanna fight."

"Not here," Beryl called from the hallway, "There's an old warehouse about three ticks from here. Have at it."

Lockdown growled, "Who let her in here?"

"I've got a master key," the slate femme replied smoothly, dragging HotRod and a violently resisting Arcee down the hallway. "If you need these two, they'll be helpin' me wit' plumbing. If you're spritely 'nough to harass and stab each other you can work pipes."

The Autobot had resigned himself to his fate, walking in time with his captor. Arcee, however, dug in her heels and bit her on the arm.

Beryl laughed, "That's demolition grade armor. The last saurian-build I tangled with couldn't make a dent, I highly doubt you will, youngin'."

They could hear Arcee snarling long after they'd left the flat.

Jazz turned back to the mechling, " _Her?_ "

"Yes."

"You weird."

"You like RoadRage and she's bigger and older than you. That's weird."

"She don't bite people." Jazz shuffled off and Lock followed.

They'd made it all the way to the streets before he made an effort to speak again. "How's your arm?"

"Itches."

Jazz supposed it was better than the alternative, busted and unsalvageable. "Why'd you even push me out of the way if you knew you were going to lose it?"

"Ask a stupid question…" he trailed off.

"Answer it, dumbaft."

The green and black side-eyed him, "Because as much as I can't stand you, I don't want you dead."

He had nothing to say to that.

"Whatever I did to you is nothing compared to what Cabal might have done. He would've killed you."

Jazz fiddled with the latch on the door that was suspiciously unopened and they slipped in, "It doesn't make it right."

The other mechling explored the nearly spotless area, turning on the lights one by one, lingering on each switch as if it were so interesting. "Guess not, but I rather you be mad at me all the time than offline. You're welcome."

Without thinking Jazz spat, **~ Aft. ~**

 **~ Shut up. ~** Came Lockdown's automatic reply.

No gunshot could have been louder.

Jazz frowned, **~ What the— ~**

"No," Lockdown snapped, "Don't say anything, you didn't hear anything."

But he had, and he didn't like it.

"Ahm callin' Arcee."

"Don't!" He grabbed his shoulder, "Is there a reason we can't just keep this between us?"

He raised an optic ridge, "I can think of like twelve."

Lockdown normally didn't show anything above active or bored irritation, "scared" was a look he thought they'd left in The Depths with Deadlock holding him at gunpoint. Or after Tsui.

He'd never been the same after she passed. Yeah, he'd always been ornery but all the play he'd once had evaporated in the cycles after, like part of him had died too. When they were still in the neighborhood, Stepper hadn't taken an interest in what was going on. Jazz had.

His twin had called him a nosy gawker but he couldn't help it. The whole fiasco was like watching a tram wreck; you couldn't look away. Lock's clan _tried_ to bring him back around, but even the kindest family he'd ever seen couldn't help if Lockdown didn't want it. He was too far gone. Waking up next to a cold frame did that to people.

He still didn't fully get how someone could go from fascinated with anatomy, to creeped out by dead frames, to okay with looting the same thing he'd been scared of.

 **~ Jazz…you do know what trauma is, right? He just learned to cope in a—different way. ~** Prowl sounded just as apprehensive as he felt.

Jazz could feel angry heat seeping over the new line with Lockdown, ironically not nearly as painful as establishing one with Prowl.

Ever the mediator, Prowl addressed Lockdown, **~ You can't get mad at him, it's an open line. We'll be down there in a kilk. ~**

While they waited, uncomfortable silence stretched, but soon enough the Praxian strode in toting a squirming steeljaw that immediately snuggled up next to Lockdown after being set free. His wings bobbed awkwardly, stood tall, and finally sank behind his back. **~ Where's—~**

Without a warning on his or anyone's HUD, judging by the flinches, the pink femme dropped from the ceiling. In less than a nano she'd snarled, seeing whatever they hadn't. **~ Surprise, idiots. We're talking. Now. ~** Arcee called, one set of digits rapping against her folded arm like bullets, **~ What did you do?! We're all connected! ~**

"Not by choice." Lockdown rumbled.

Arcee held up a digit, **~Shu. I know you won't like it but only in bond. This isn't natural. If anyone finds out we're gonna be the biggest freak show ever. Or worse. Now. ~** She sat in the middle of the floor, whipping out a datapad, **~ Symptoms? ~**

 **~ Purging? ~** Jazz offered.

 **~ We've all either been through pit or sick or both. ~** Arcee argued, **~ I've run every test I know, made some from scratch, and we still could be sick. Besides…Terrorcons can't purge. ~**

 **~ Prowl knew I mess with crystals in my down time and Jazz knew about Hyra before anyone else. ~** Lockdown added.

She wrote something down in an indecipherable scrawl onto a datapad, **~ Makes sense. He must be getting feedback from the Massis. At least your wound was worth it. Do you hear anything? ~**

Jazz's derma pressed into a firm line, **~ Nada. It just came to me, it was a bad place to go. ~**

 **~ No wonder nothing is showing up! ~** She hissed, **~It's all in our helms. ~**

 **~ Partially psychosomatic. ~** Prowl supplied.

 **~ Well if you wanna get all fancy with it, Mister Study-pad. ~**

The Praxian ignored her, **~ Jazz's systems were attacked by both a programming and a physical virus. That made it easier for a bond to make the jump to me since he was already connecting. So, it jumped from us to you guys. ~**

 **~ Our virus mutates? ~** Lockdown asked.

Arcee narrowed her optics, **~ And probably learns. The only things we have in common are… ~**

 **~ Weird bond status'. ~**

 **~ Trauma and losing multiple relatives at once. ~**

 **~ We've been around each other for a while. ~**

 **~ And we've been forced to place a strong measure of trust in each other. ~** Arcee nodded, biting into a rust stick—and everyone grabbing a stick from the open tin in turn.

 **~ These taste like scrap. ~** Lockdown hissed.

She grinned, **~ Closest flavor to sentients, Purple Acid. ~**

 **~ Of all 'formers, why you? ~** Jazz muttered.

 **~ Science and dumb chance. ~**

Prowl balked, **~ A literal manifestation of friendship. ~**

Lockdown had a less gilded view of it. **~ It's like that virus you get when you first start hanging around other sparklings. Congrats, you morons gave us the skitters. ~**

 **~ You don't just wind up with the skitters or bonds on your own. ~** Arcee baited.

The green mech let out an overwarm ventilation, **~ Now what? ~**

 **~ There's a matter of privacy. ~** Prowl began, **~ Otherwise this system bleed will keep happening. ~**

 **~ You really think you can stop it? ~** Lockdown asked.

 **~ None of you have gotten anything from me, have you? It helps to be intensely private. ~,** he shut his optics off, folded his legs and let his frame relax. **~ Try this. ~**

 **~ You're serious. ~** Lock snorted, **~ This whole meditation slag? ~**

 **~ We wouldn't be having this issue if you three weren't accustomed to being connected to others. If what's happened isn't normal it would reason that it's the inverse of a natural bond. No restrictions, guidelines, or an senior to provide structure. Whatever happened to you this would be an opportune time to begin treating it. ~**

Jazz noted Lockdown didn't have much to say following that.

 **~ Look, just focus and separate yourself. ~**

As expected of an uptight prick, Prowl was good at keeping his internal thoughts aligned and ordered. Through their parasitic link Jazz got the impression organization was something he genuinely enjoyed, not just something borne out of survival. Nerd. He singled each member out working with them one-by-one until he'd gotten everyone sectioned off as well as their rooms in the flat.

Lockdown tested the boundaries and pulled back, satisfied, **~ That simple? ~**

 **~ Not quite, we could use this to our benefit—with a little retooling. ~**

Jazz sat up taller, quickly gathering what Prowl was planning.

The Praxian snatched up a nearby pole...that hadn't been there a little while ago. **~ Fighting. ~**

He didn't have long to think on it as Arcee was already on her peds with an antsy grin, Lockdown with a wicked one.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Beryl held one audio and summoned a comm with her free servo, pacing around the youngling's flat. HotRod sat on the kitchen table, peds swinging aimlessly with the same issue she had. One moment, Arcee had been grudgingly helping with the plumbing the next, she'd tensed and raked her digits down the wall swearing up a blue streak in Predus. Presently, Beryl was placing a call to the one 'former she knew would be in the area.

"And you're sure you don't know where Arcee went?"

Roddy shrugged, "All I know is: she's got a smoking frame, but meaner than a serpent-build. Like I said, we room with them but we don't actually hang out all that much."

"How about you, Springer?"

The green and yellow mech groaned, "Who knows, she might be having someone for lunch."

HotRod cackled but the way Springer said it didn't sound like a joke. He had a look like he'd just let a secret slip but he cleared his vents and continued. "Prowl just got really quiet and said he'd be back."

With the youngling other engrossed in a chip game, Beryl let her comm servo down, "You were gone an awful long while the other cycle."

"I got shot down on the outskirts and 'Cee found me; I'm still looking for the Wreckers."

Now that was a problem she could solve, "Kid, you've been going the wrong way. Their base is downtown and a couple of 'em room here. It's like the Ninety Vorn War out there, they're running interference. They'll be back soon enough."

His optics brightened, "Is Kup with them?"

"Ehhh," Beryl jeered, "Where else would that old coot be? You know him?"

"He's our guardian."

"Ha," she rubbed the back of her helm, "My bad."

"How do you know him?"

"We've crossed paths…the way things are going we'll probably be crossing paths in the morgue too. Haven't seen in a couple dozen vorns. There's a limit to how many times ya should run into a 'former during your life span."

Springer canted his helm, "He's never mentioned you."

Beryl put on her best "make-nice" smile. They were sweet kids, really, shame they were 'bots. "Ah, he knows a lot of 'formers, probably never came up. Hey, what was Cee doing all the way on the outskirts of the city?"

Unfortunately, the line picked up before he could answer.

 _:: Twitch? ::_

Her derma curled into a smile at the quiet voice, "Greetings, Master. How have you been?"

 _:: Well. To what do I owe this comm? ::_

"I sent two younglings to your warehouse and the other two that normally are with them are gone."

 _:: They are all here sparring. ::_

"Good. Thank you."

 _:: They are rather violent. ::_

She took the comm into the furthest room, "Sorry…I know…and one of them may be…ya know… prone to carnivorous episodes."

 _:: I see. ::_

"They're new renters," Beryl continued, "I'm not sure where they came from, but they're off the street."

 _:: You are going to attempt to allow them to turn over a new line of programming. ::_

"No. Yes. I mean… I don't want them to get into the worst of things, but I don't want them to be 'Bots either."

 _:: Then you are the best 'former for the job. ::_

"Thank you, Master."

 _:: You did not train under me, the title is unnecessary, Twitch. ::_

"Term of endearment, and I apologize but I go by "Beryl" now."

 _:: Of course, good cycle. ::_

She slid down the wall she was and played with the plastic rod on the floor, until she found it was actually a hidden shank.

"Who's knife, younglings?"

"MINE!" HotRod crowed.

"Keep your scrap up, I'm not your maid!"

Beryl groaned. She worried about the new arrivals.

Sure, there'd been an uptick in them since the city-state attacks. Most were either adults or younglings with an adult, these six were some of the few she'd seen alone.

The green cadet and his friend always left early to look for anyone they knew from their old academy. The Wreckers would get them in touch with the local Autobot militia. Three of the others mainly kept to themselves, she only caught brief glances of them coming and going and they rarely ever socialized.

The last one though…

She'd been curious when he'd been brought to the building passed out, concerned when her sensors found he was still in the same condition, and about to ask about them herself when she hadn't seen him stirring around at all. Now he wasn't even here.

The slate femme stopped herself, all in good time. She didn't want to crowd them. If it meant keeping them alive, she'd do it.

Someone had to.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

 **Meanwhile**

Prowl slid across the floor and came to a halt, one wing bent. He turned to Jazz, who was still unharmed. **~ How are they doing that? ~**

The "they" in question being Arcee and Lockdown circling them. Every move was timed and paired like clockwork: two so called loners working in perfect harmony. Meanwhile, when they struck he was the last to know. Jazz leapt out of the way and he got run over.

Jazz watched them for a nano, **~ They're synced, united in purpose and mind. So, what are we doing? ~**

 **~ Trying not to die. ~**

The Polyhexian huffed, **~ You gotta be fast. ~**

Lockdown cut while taking a lunge at Prowl, **~ You're fast, you're just not making a connection. Come on you're just going to fight me. One on one. ~**

 **~ I want to fight the nerd. ~** Arcee argued.

 **~ Arcee, ~** Jazz "said" flatly, **~ I watched you turn a mech twice your size into confetti. ~**

 **~ And? ~**

 **~ You're a level ten threat. We want him alive and he's already fought me and you. ~**

 **~ He's never gonna learn if you don't train him... ~** Arcee warned.

Prowl hissed, **~ Quit talking about me like I'm a pet! ~**

 **~ Ah, but you are. ~** She purred, **~ And since you've been such a good mechling I'll go easy on you. ~**

He stalled again and Jazz dragged her off the scrape-laden floor.

 **~ Yah** _ **nasty**_ **. Go 'head, I got her. ~**

Watching the green and black mechling sink into a fighting stance reminded Prowl why he didn't toy around with him. Jazz did—when not in striking range. Lockdown was a triple-threat build-wise: lanky, armored, and tall. Factor in a psychopathic streak that extended to nearly everyone and it made for a formidable opponent. Lock was already helm and shoulders over any of them. He was going to be a monster when he got older.

The mech lifted his helm up, preening, **~ Already am. ~**

Prowl shifted his frame, digging out two shards of metal he'd snatched up. Lockdown went in weaponless. The key was to keep out of his range and distract until he could get an opening, as he'd picked up on. He tucked his doorwings to his back and lunged.

Lockdown still nearly decked him.

 **~ Like ah said, what are we doing? ~** Jazz asked again.

 **~ Fighting. ~**

 **~ Dense. You're so busy building barriers you forgot doors. Let me in. ~**

Prowl grudgingly accepted, seamlessly gaining a view of he and Lockdown from the side. **~ What is this? ~**

 **~ Useful. ~**

He got his helm clipped by a fist. **~ Not in this case. ~**

 **~C'mon Prowler. What's holding you back? ~**

 **~ I'm not supposed… ~**

The green mech finally landed a solid hit sending Prowl to a knee.

 **~ Fat load of good that's gonna do you now. ~** Jazz snapped, **~ You gonna get creamed, or you finally gonna fight back? ~**

 **~ This aint like class. ~** Jazz continued, **~ No law, no rules, just survive. ~**

Prowl squared himself. He made a valid point, times had changed and without a wide range of skills he'd be among those who wouldn't make it. He wanted to make it…if only just to see somewhere outside of Cybertron. He had people that counted on him now.

Prowl ducked beneath Lockdown's swing and sliced his arm. He came back around faking for his jaw, Lockdown blocked, and Prowl forced his full weight onto the mechling, slamming him to the ground.

After a stunned moment, Lockdown decided not to take kindly to that and flipped him.

As his helm cleared he looked up to an outstretched servo and three voices.

 **~ Better. ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

And by "better" Lockdown meant he wasn't getting slung all over the place anymore. The nerd actually had some five cycles he decided to call it and head to the flat.

 **~ I told ya so. Watch out for the quiet ones. ~** Arcee chirped, bright paint standing out plainly against the darkening light outside.

 **~ Hey, you don't think this spread to Springer and HotRod? ~** Prowl asked.

 **~ You gotta form link first. And** _ **don't**_ **let them in. ~**

Lockdown stopped in the shadow of the place he didn't want to admit was becoming like a home. **~ You really want to go back to the flat right off? Kinda crowded. ~**

Prowl's wings dipped. Jazz's visor dimmed.

Arcee finally spoke up, **~ The building roof? I got some old, sticky gels we can drop on 'formers. ~**

 **~ Sounds like a plan. ~** Jazz rubbed his servos together.

Turning back to catch the nerd's expression, Lockdown nearly crashed into Beryl on the way into the lobby.

"Well, look who's back. It's the slacker," she glared at Arcee, "Who claws walls like that?"

"I get migraines," she said lamely.

"And you're the medic…you okay?"

The pink femme grumbled, stalking off.

"Cy-Stan, femmeling."

"As ok as I'll ever be." her plating bristled, **~ Nosy. ~**

Jazz looked between them, **~ This lady's always like that? ~**

 **~ Has been since we made it here. ~** Lockdown confirmed.

 **~ She's a landlord. ~** Prowl grumbled, **~ It's what they do. If you were in her situation, you'd do the same. ~**

"Prowl's right." Beryl said offhandedly still standing in the sliding doors.

Behind her Arcee spun around, EM flickering, **~ Frag. Frag. Frag. ~**

The slate femme nodded, "You spend long enough reading cues for a living you learn a thing or two. Watch your mouths. Good seeing ya, Lil Poly."

* * *

:)


	30. Bushwhack

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _Typical mayhem_

 _The Wombats -Let's Dance to Joy Division_

* * *

" **Bushwhack** **"**

 **A megacycle later**

"Get up, losers, it's the end of the orn!" HotRod yelled.

Lockdown nearly severed a line scrambling up to join the rest of the group fidgeting around in the living area. He forgot it was payment time just that quickly and from the looks of it so had their Autobot roommates.

Instead, he chose to play it off. "Let me guess, you guys don't have your half."

"Half? They're more of you than us." Springer countered.

Arcee snickered, "And you make up the other three."

The green and yellow behemoth wasn't going down alone. "Uh-huh, and who's the one that dragged a computer back here that uses up all the power?"

"I need it for work."

Lockdown had no idea what the techno babble that scrolled across the screen meant, the Terrorcon only explained it half the time. Something she'd run into about online medical help.

Meanwhile, the blame game continued with HotRod, "Come to think of it, what do you guys do?"

"We're bounty hunters," Lockdown answered.

"But you've never actually caught anyone?" Springer asked bluntly.

"Not yet."

"Then you're posers." HotRod butted in.

Jazz snickered, "And y'all some broke freeloaders."

"There was a no-credit policy on base!"

The towering triple changer folded his arms, "Look we've got until the end of the mega-cycle or we're out on our fats, you guys have anything constructive to add or are you just a bunch of Con washouts?"

"In case you haven't noticed, nobody's been in much shape to work—" Prowl started.

Lockdown held up a servo to quiet him, a barely-there smile forming on his derma. "You want to make half-vorns rent in a few joors? Come with us."

"We're not doing anything illegal." Springer bristled, "It's not Autobot code."

"Ah, but genocide sure is." Jazz nodded.

"I know you don't have something to say, Ops," he growled.

"At least we don't take out innocents."

Contrary to the rest of them, Jazz and the fiery speedster had struck up a competitive friendship based on enjoying racing and staying alive. That wasn't the case with Springer. He had the chronic aliment all 'Bots had: not trusting someone based on the tint of their optics.

"You two want to keep living here or what?" Lockdown barked, "Because if we don't get it together, we're going to be on the fast track to a ref center."

The Polyhexian nodded sagely and met the confused look on Roddy's face. "Lock, Prowls, and me have been to prison and road tripping through some rough turf. Let's just say we'd be better off in the Ferrin Depths again than chancing it in the ref centers."

"Thought you mechs were prospective Wreckers? Awful weak tanks…" Arcee taunted.

Prowl took his turn baiting the duo, "You won't have to get your servos dirty, just act as bait and you'll get your fair cut."

Springer took time to look them each in the optic and Lockdown stared right back. Oh, Springs had morals. Nowhere near as strong as Prowl's had been, but adaptable enough to know when to cave.

Sure enough, the triple changer bit his derma and ex-vented, "Who are we after?"

Lockdown adjusted his posture to one of straightened assurance, "Some Autobot infiltrator whose fortune is about to run out. We're returning him to the client."

"Fine."

"We leave at dark, Springs, don't get stalled parts." Lockdown warned.

After they left, Prowl opened their group link. **~ You don't know who we're collecting, do you? ~**

 **~ Does it matter? Anything to keep them pacified. ~**

 **~ We're actually going to hunt! ~** Arcee cheered, **~ I've been so bored. Don't form a bond with this one, hm Jazz? ~**

The Polyhexian made a growling noise, **~ I'm gonna prep with Prowler, y'all get ready. ~**

Lockdown shook his limbs out. He'd mapped out several jobs on the way to Letalis, but he hadn't felt up to hunting. He sneered; Springer hit it on the helm. The only job he'd ever had, he'd botched. Find, subdue, and retrieve one mech. It wouldn't be so hard, but the jitters surrounding a first hunt ate at him anyway.

"Take a load off, you'll blow a fuse." Arcee called, organizing her own munitions on the floor next to him.

"What do you think of the crew?"

"Good," she nodded, "Keep Roddy and Springs away from the action and we'll be golden."

He nodded absently. "So why'd you try to run away the other night?"

"I wasn't." Arcee ran her digit along the edge of a blade, "At least not yet. Terrorcons aren't meant to be around normal 'formers for long and I seem to be cursed. Everyone I get close to dies. I don't want you guys to be next."

"Like Belloc?"

"Yeah—just like him, Spade, Bobtail, my clan—"

He huffed, "If that's the criteria you're going by, every sentient is cursed. Slag happens."

She looked him over, "Do you have any lingering effects from losing your twin?"

Something about the Terrorcon reminded him of being home, however bizarre it seemed. "There's literally a jammer where my spark should be. I had a nasty reaction to it after and the medic said I'd either offline or go crazy. Guess which one happened."

"Huh, we have more in common than I thought…" She muttered, "Everyone has a choice, that medic just made a self-fulfilling prophecy. And he was stupidly wrong."

"I always thought he was kinda screwy… Wait, what?"

Arcee smirked, sitting directly in front of him. "You love your hound, practically adopted two younglings nobody wants around, you're having a spark-to-spark with someone who _eats_ sparks, you organized a freaking bounty hunting squad with Autobots! I think you want friends, you're just too afraid to ask."

"It was all an accident." He shrugged.

"It's sweet how much you care about them. You got some weird ways of expressing it, though. We need to work on that."

And there it was, that uncomfortable sensation in his helm and chassis. He rocked to his peds, "I'm going outside."

"Aw come back." She whined.

Lockdown dropped back to the floor with a clank, "Were you and Belloc close?"

She smiled fondly, "He was practically my brother…we'd known each other since Spade brought me into the pack. All the other sparklings ran and he tried to set me on fire."

"Charming."

"I miss him, but after a while, all death means is you've got another hole to dig or place to vacate." Arcee leaned in until their faceplates almost brushed, instead blunted digits played over the pale, black streaked surface. "You have a nice face."

Being owner of said face he grumbled, "Called it messy earlier."

"That was before you earned your markings." She patted the top of his helm, "Why so curious about Bells all of a sudden?"

"Nothin'."

"You really need to learn you can trust people." Her grip tightened on his helm, **~ I'll let you in on a secret, but don't tell the others. Do you mind our EM's mingling? ~**

He made confused sputtering noises and something to the effect of, "Idontcare." She forced his helm down to hers bumping helms, before lifting it back up. **~ I've got a favorite. ~**

Lockdown shifted, confused and armor overly warm, "Please tell me you're not going to eat me _**now**_."

"Some would make it akin to death, I like to think of friendship as a mutualistic relationship…like a symbiotic parasite. Quit shivering. I thought that was sweet."

"Maybe for Predacons..."

"Good thing I've got you to help me then."

"Idon't _not_ likeyoutoo," he mumbled.

"Yeah, good thing. See, you're not shaking anymore," she smiled, pulling him by his good servo. "Now put it out of your mind. Let's go raise some pit!"

To her credit, he _had_ stopped shaking. He twined their digits together.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

In the next room Jazz groaned, digits strut deep in Prowl's back, "Are yah still flinching?"

"No."

"If yah don staph imma fight yah."

He watched Prowl bury his helm in one arm and flip him off with his free servo.

The Polyhexian snorted maneuvering wires in the junction at the base of Prowl's helm. Not too long ago, this was the last place he'd have let Jazz poke around, things had changed—for the better for once. He was going to lower the sensitivity in his doorwings somehow without hindering his scanners and he explained himself as he did.

Prowl sent a grateful pulse for the running dialogue, that stab at his processor was still stinging like a raw sore.

"Seriously, you can get beat half to offlining but this makes you click?"

"IT HURTS," he clipped.

"Well, ah can't just knock yah out fer this one. Better if yah up so I can see the connections lighting."

"How do you know so much about doorwings?"

He rubbed a particular sensor to alleviate the pain, "Used tah have pseudo ones and they went away went I got mah alt. Got em caught on everything and it's too easy a torture method. I'm gonna set it so you can heighten and lower it easier."

Jazz paused as heavier peds thumped down their hallway and Prowl propped his helm atop folded arms just in time to see Springer creeping into the doorway.

"Hey, I'm going out—" The green mech took a few steps backward at seeing the impromptu tune up, "Busy?"

Jazz sent a burst of amusement, **~Watch this. ~** "Nooope," he drawled, not offering anything else in way of explanation. "Matta a fact you can be next." He pulled out a wicked looking device, something that Jazz politely informed Prowl was called an endoscopic claw, "Been itching to try this out… Whatcha need?"

Springer finally spoke up, "Just asked I was going out to get energon since we're such a burden…want anything?"

"Ah don drink what strangers give meh."

"We room together?" he asked sardonically.

"We didn't forget." Prowl said in a monotone.

"Hmm…" the new-build hung around in their doorframe, looking rattled from the vicious device. "Hey, I don't know who you're working for but can you do me a favor and not kill us in our recharge?"

Jazz beamed, "Na see how polite he is? That's how normal people act, Prowler."

"I'll be sure to take notes." He deadpanned.

Jazz turned back to the increasingly unnerved new build, "Sure thing, Springs."

The Praxian nodded, "Normally he won't admit it if he is; you're safe."

"Or are you?" Jazz beamed.

"Okay—then, I'll be going."

Jazzcould feel a non-verbal chuckle ripple through Prowl's frame.

 **~ You're cruel. If he stands any straighter his spinal strut is going to snap. ~**

The Polyhexian grinned, **~ I know. He's so tyro it hurts. ~**

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Not too long afterwards, Springer was watching what sunlight filtered through the smog vanish.

"You really think this is a good idea?" HotRod asked.

"Got any other choice?" Springer paused. "I don't want to bother Kup."

Beryl had shown up at the flat one cycle smiling and saying she had a surprise for them. And in the hallway was their old guardian. HotRod rushed the elderly mech, nearly knocking him over in the process and he'd been quick to follow.

He wouldn't admit he nearly clicked.

They'd known the drill sergeant since the beginning. He'd found him in a parking lot and HotRod in a dumpster within the same area and timeframe. Kup had taken them in when no one else wanted them, he'd raised them, and gotten them into the Autobot corps. He'd had his own quasi-governmental militia he co-led with Impactor. Every once in a while, Kup would drop in to run drills and they were shown no mercy.

After the attacks, Springer never thought they'd see him again.

Then he'd taken them downtown where they'd seen the rest of what was left of the Wreckers. They were better off than the main branch of Autobots. Word had gotten out and they'd launched a counterstrike. It had still been too late. They were stretched thin now providing assistance. As far as anyone knew, the Magnus was dead, the Elite Guard had been eradicated, Autobot forces had been culled down to a fraction, SpecOps and Enforcers in all three states had taken nasty hits—

And then he'd remembered seeing that dark look Jazz had given him when they'd left with Kup. He didn't know where Lockdown and Arcee were from but there was no doubt about the other two. They must have lost members too.

"I wanna help out. Everyone's hurting right now—the Wreckers don't need freeloaders. We gotta pull our own weight."

Besides, any spare room they had was being reserved for their injured and _Whirl_ was on base. The same Whirl that offered to spilt him in two so he wouldn't be "a flyer and grounder mushed in one anymore". He figured their current arrangement couldn't be that bad.

HotRod let out a loud vent of air, "So we're really teaming up with the creeps?"

"As I recall, you like hanging out with one of them."

He smiled cheekily, "Jazz's fun."

HotRod liked playing with fire, obviously. Always had.

The thin divider door rattled as someone banged on it, "Time to roll."

They followed along behind the quad until Lockdown turned around, "Head down to that door, ask for Afterburn, and when he runs from the back, we'll get him." He nodded to a sparsely populated market area, "Just wait for us there."

Springer nodded and started off. He didn't want to know what was going to happen while they were gone and he knew better than to ask questions by now.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Prowl mused if Springer had been with them that lunar cycle, he would have been even more unnerved. Signal blockers, cloakers, blasters, and stasis cuffs. They looked like a squad of doom in the dark.

The nano Springer had uttered the mech's name to the 'former that answered the door, their target had bolted out of the back. Prowl was prepared to chase after him but Lockdown snagged his shoulder.

 **~ 'Aint an Enforcer sting. Let 'em tire out. ~**

Lockdown then coerced Flamewar into sniffing the mech out on her own. It was slow going as the steeljaw was easily distracted in a new area. On the bright side, it gave Prowl time to plot. Hunting was an ever-changing tangle of variables and factors, like a perfect puzzle. There was no acid rain to mess with his sensors so it should have been an easy job.

The Terrorcon suddenly hissed and Flamewar sat, stubby tail thumping.

Arcee swiped two digits on the ground, **~ He threw down razor dust, one sniff will scrap her sensors. He knows someone's hunting him. ~**

 **~ We need to spilt up ~** Prowl said suddenly, **~ There's too great a risk he'll set up an ambush. ~**

He could feel Lockdown observing him, until he crept out from his section of the bond like a monster from under a sparklings berth. His vison seized his vison momentarily, the sensation settling like a rock behind his spark. **~ I want to see. ~**

 **~ I'm going to need everyone's optics, but first I need a high vantage point. ~**

 **~ It'll take too long to climb. ~** Jazz's HUD flickered into in his, splitting his vision into thirds, **~ Can you handle video feed? ~**

 **~ Tactical processor, remember? ~**

Prowl's vison wavered a final time, splitting into fourths. He met Arcee's optics.

She waved him forward, **~ As long as we all have the same goal in mind. C'mon, walk and think, nerd. ~**

 **~ But— ~**

 **~ If you're as good as your heritage says, you can. ~**

Reluctantly, he arranged his HUD and sensors so he was able to do exactly that. It drew less power than he thought it would. **~ He's heading south, narrow one-way alley. ~** Prowl took point at the mouth of a network of housing complexes as the others fanned out.

 **~ Got a fix on him? ~** Jazz called out.

 **~ He ducked out of range. Has to be between 1-G and 3-V. ~**

Jazz and Arcee conversed amongst themselves. **~ Transform. We go in hard and fast to flush him again, too many optics here. ~**

Prowl searched ahead, **~ There's a park. Parks are the best. Hard to pinpoint who's been involved with so much traffic, isolated, and less cameras. ~**

 **~ Sounds familiar… ~** Lockdown trailed. Jazz responded with a snort.

 **~ I'm going to cripple him, ~** Arcee sent, **~ Screw dart. ~**

 **~ Why do they call it— ~** Prowl's question was answered when a silent, miniscule dart dug its way into the mech's thigh plating, but cauterizing the metal behind it.

 **~ It's gonna wreak havoc in his leg, priority: transformation parts. ~**

 **~ He's moving! Hem him in! ~**

Jazz shut down any network cameras in the area. Lockdown nailed him before he even reached the entrance of the park with Arcee helping drag him behind a high wall for better coverage.

The mech yelled and kicked out, thrashing violently. Prowl fastened an arm around his throat as the other two fought to keep him still. Jazz piled on, applying whatever narcotics needed to keep him docile.

An artificial glimmer caught his optic and the Praxian tensed, **~ Knife! ~**

A punch knocked the mech unconscious and it took Prowl a nano to realize that it was he who'd done it… The target was finally down, he'd successfully aided, and saved Jazz from a knife attack. And it felt satisfying. He shied away from that train of thought as Lockdown took over restraining the downed mech.

He was still eager to do—something. Instead, he watched Flamewar play at pinning the mech down by his wounded leg. He hadn't noticed his digits drumming on his thigh until Jazz gave him a knowing look. **~ Someone has a berserker streak. Cool it, we need this one functioning. ~**

Prowl settled back, actively ignoring Lockdown looting their unconscious victim's frame. His processor raced from the high. They'd almost actually gotten away this; he just needed to keep listening in on where the local law enforcement was. Hopefully, Lock had a pickup spot for their clients nearby. He wasn't sure they could haul this mech without getting caught or breaking an axel.

A shove from Arcee drew him back into the real world.

"You've got the fever of the hunt," she smiled wide enough to showcase her hidden fangs, "It looks like you might be one of us."

Sometime ago, the back of his processor would have burned at hearing that from someone of her status, leaving a raw ache in his morale code causing endless anxiety.

This, though, was no longer that cycle nor would it be the last.

For some mega-cycles the routine continued. Their two Autobots or Flamewar would draw their target out and hang back while they hunted, Arcee tracked, he took over surveillance and coordination, if needed Jazz handled dispatching, Lockdown would wait for their client to retrieve the target, and they'd all head back to the flat. Designations and faceplates blurred, locations changed, but the tasks remained the same. He found himself used to the routine—even enjoying it.

They weren't the only bounty hunters by a long shot, but their quick method of attacking and subduing 'formers worked well. Only one bounty had been scalped. With each faction recovering from losses there were plenty out there seeking vengeance or intel. They wouldn't be out of work for vorns.

It felt good to be needed.

Needless to say, they were able to keep their flat.


	31. Blue

**Disclaimer:** _Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun._

 **Warnings:** _It's a long one. Typical mayhem_ _in a collection of snapshots and Beryl attempts to play mom_

 _Fall Out Boy - Disloyal Order Of The Water Buffaloes_

* * *

" **Blue"**

Beryl was slowly becoming convinced she worried too much.

Now, a full orn later, the once unconscious Polyhexian was regularly popping up at the lounge Blaster ran in the basement. He'd even volunteered to sing on open mic night. What could she say, the kid had pipes and could work a crowd. And she wasn't just saying that because he was another Polyhexian.

She was still regretting the first one.

"The First" being Blaster. A rather loud, opinionated radio host that Kup had found and wanted housed here. Seeing as she'd known the old drill sergeant for the better part of her functioning, she let him house _a few_ of his militia members here. Blaster was on the tame end of the Wreckers spectrum, if you could get over the obnoxiously loud music. Currently, she was enduring his weekly sound test.

Beryl didn't even notice the little Poly until he was almost in front of her.

She let out an undignified yelp, "Yeesh, kid! You need a bell on you!"

"Sorry," he yelled over the noise.

"Funny seeing you here durin' waking joors." She called, "What's your designation?!"

He rocked on his peds, minding the music more than her if his rippling digits were anything to go by. "Jazz."

"Aym Beryl; I want you ta meet someone!" she rapped on the massive communications system about to make her audios bleed.

The mech obliged, music cutting abruptly as he rotated and shifted back into his bipedal mode, red and yellow frame still reverberating from the bass. "Sup, lil mech?"

"Nothin'." Jazz flinched, fear filtering into his frame for the barest of nanos.

She caught Blaster's optic and he shrugged. That was new—most 'formers were calmed by symbiont-builds. He acted like Blaster was going to off him.

"So, ah heard yah from Polyhex."

The comm. officer was rewarded with a wary smile, "Yah."

"Finally, thought ah was by myself out here! Where yah been?"

He shrugged, plating ducking, "Sick. Musta picked up a virus somewhere."

That was the part that had Beryl puzzled. Last time she'd caught cyber-flu, it lasted a megacycle and thought she was dying. How the kid had lasted an orn was beyond her.

Blaster continued, "Glad ya better. So, yah inta the music scene? Got a spot open at the lounge if you'd like."

The youngling stiffened further, "What kinda spot…"

"Singin' what else?"

Her spark sank. She'd seen that look too many times before. They'd had brushes with the black market, hadn't they?

Jazz still acted apprehensive after his explanation, "Don get meh wrong, but the last time I got a gig I wound up sicker than a Plague turbofox."

"It'll be fine. Ah could always use another music mech. Perfectly safe. If it makes yah feel better you can bring a friend. Yah'll planning on staying for a while, right? Wouldn't mind ya help on tha floor."

He nodded after a moment of quiet, "I'll be there."

Jazz kept his word.

He showed up well before for sound check and stayed long after the party. Not without one of his friends tagging along behind of course. It struck her that something awful must have happened to the four of them, Jazz in particular, and they didn't want the youngest out of their sight. Though, the young mech seemed able enough to manage on his own... Even if she'd had to send him upstairs early one night after he started running hot.

And to think she'd once made fun of Kup for taking in strays. Funny how they wormed their way into your spark.

So, she'd made the mistake of turning up at their flat unannounced again.

Surprisingly, the place wasn't a tram-wreck. They'd finally set up all of the furniture and there were mats scattered around the living area at least from what she could see from around Springer. He held up a digit with a conspiring smile and gestured behind him.

Lockdown was sprawled on the floor in recharge, snoring like a jackhammer. The steeljaw was licking treat crumbs off his face, alternating with Jazz and HotRod as they nudged her out of the way to draw new designs on the oblivious mech. The other three sat back and watched.

"Y'all aint right." Beryl attempted to whisper with a straight face, "Why're ya doodlin' all over 'im?"

"Flamewar's distracting him." Prowl supplied, "Any other time he'd be all, _'The FRAG are you doing?'_ " The Praxian pulled off a surprising imitation of the mechling's guttural vocals.

Jazz immediately joined in, _"Leave me alone, I'm an aft."_

" _I'm just mad it looks like someone ran over my face."_ HotRod rumbled, faceplate contorting into a false scowl.

Kup's green charge looked around as they waited on him, _"I'm grouchy."_

"Aw Springer! Really?" his adoptive brother moaned.

"It's Arcee's turn anyhow."

"She's not going to," Prowl said flatly, "She likes him."

All optics turned to the only other femme and said femme glared back.

"Yeah, I enjoy the nasty bastard. So?"

HotRod squawked, "He's a freak!"

"He beat me up!" Jazz shot back.

"True, but what makes you think I can't snatch a dent in him?" Arcee reached out and yanked on one of Jazz's audio horns affectionately, "And what is the difference between him and me? You didn't see what I did to Prowl, these things happen in a pack."

Beryl sat back, derma pursed. Vorns ago, she'd seen a pack of tame hounds of all sizes, escaped from someone's back lot. They fought with each other until a dark mech with his pet—mutts—passed by. They quickly dropped their differences with a reason to gel together, in this case: a turbofox, a steeljaw hybrid, and their long-fanged owner.

What happened after that, she didn't know. By the time the mech made a crazed snarl back, she'd gotten the pit out of there. The next time she did see the hounds, they were a few members short but a lot more considerate of each other. The lesson stayed firm in her processors.

"It doesn't have to be that way, yannow, I've seen gangs act nicer toward each other."

Arcee shrugged, "My guardian said, _'No loyalty comes without pain. So fragging deal.'_ "

She let out a hiss of air, "First off, your guardian's _intense_ …"

"Preda-purist," the pink femme supplied.

"And you're from Uraya…that," Beryl paused, "Explains too much. Mostly Preda population in the downtown districts, right? Did she kidnap you?"

Arcee canted her helm, "She fragging saved me!"

"Okay, okay. Calm it down. Y'all kiss your parentages with those mouths?"

All the noise in the room quieted except Flamewar's unrelenting licking. No one made optic contact. Soon the pup looked around, noting the fluctuation in fields, and with her glossa still out whined miserably.

"Ahm sorry."

"Please, not much you can say wrong. Lockdown's got family." Arcee said suddenly. "And Prowl—"

"Nothing worth going back to _if_ anyone's left," the Praxian finished.

HotRod finished the last etch on his victim with an obnoxiously loud screech of his paint pen, "And done! He's gonna kill you when he wakes up, Jazz."

"Me? Yah helped an ahm gonna tell 'im."

"Blame it on Arcee." Springer helped, "Maybe he'll actually not do that creepy smile for once."

They continued picking at their unconscious friend and Arcee scooted closer to her frame. "So, what are _you_ doing here? There's gotta be better stuff for you to do."

Beryl stared down the cynical Terror, "Just concerned 'bout y'all, is that illegal? I had a friend of a friend with tickets to Six Lasers Over Cybertron. They're closing for good. Wanted to see if any of y'all wanted in."

"A big open area with plenty of opportunities for a sniper attack? No thanks." The pink femme shuddered.

"Never thought I'd see the day when younglings wouldn't want to go out…"

HotRod's optics brightened, "I'll—"

Springer ruthlessly elbowed him. "No. Remember what Kup said."

She sighed, "Can you all still play card games? Gather 'round I'll show you how." Beryl took out a well-worn deck of multicolored, servo-sized, plastic slivers.

Someone finally bothered to wake Lockdown up and she started dealing out sets of five. The mechling was surprisingly alert for someone who could achieve such a deep level of recharge. He casually looked her over. "How'd you wind up running an apartment building? You're built like a miner."

"Cuz I was," Beryl nodded, "I got released from their service after the head 'former offlined. So, me an' some friends banded together and, boom, I got a rental building."

"Sounds like you're missing some parts." Springer commented.

"Oh yeah…we might have been a gang or something but that was vorns ago. More vorns than all y'all are collectively. Live an learn."

Lockdown eyed her suspiciously, "That's kinda shady."

"Mhmm, just like your new faceplate, darlin'."

"What's wrong with—" he patted his faceplates, servo coming away with a thick combination of slime and paint. "Which one of you—" He stopped, instead whistling for Flamewar.

The pup obediently sat, nubby tail sweeping the floor.

"Alright, which one of them did it?"

Flamewar looked back from HotRod to Jazz and back again. She ran up to the multicolored cadet.

"Snitch," Roddy grumbled.

Lockdown still kept her fixed with a firm gaze, now holding a treat, "Is that the whole truth?"

The steeljaw whined pitifully and marched up to Jazz, placing a hesitant paw on his knee.

The black and green mech started rummaging through his subspace, "You guys familiar with the game hide-and-pray-you-don't-get-found?"

" _After_ the game," Beryl cautioned, "No weapons, no dents."

"Why?"

"Because here, ah make the rules, and yah need a sense of humor." She slipped a card onto the main deck, "Now draw five."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

After their initial hunt the floodgates of Prowl's processor. Nothing was taboo as long as it got the job done on schedule and the feeling of acceptance was addictive. He was the one that negotiated them out of tight scrapes and through complicated jobs. They appreciated him like no one else had ever bothered to do. Even Arcee had warmed up to him. Maybe that was why he was having so much trouble knowing what to do with the scene before him.

Apparently, Springer and HotRod's insignias had attracted the wrong kind of attention while they were out and about. They were currently stranded in a back alley by a sector gang getting beaten to a pulp. He stayed silent and still, cloaked in the darkness along with his teammates on a rooftop.

Arcee finally voiced what his ever-quieting conscience might have said, "So…should we help?"

The dark flame printed mech shifted, "Whyya askin' me?"

The real question was why wouldn't she? Lockdown had become their de facto leader, he always had been. He seemed to like to pretend someone else was in charge. Yet he shrugged, "They're still Autobots…and weak."

Prowl spoke up, "They're like us. Deadlock, Bobtail, and Spade 'took pity' on us when they didn't have to. Besides they help with rent."

"You wanna do penance? Now?" Arcee groaned.

"Why not?" Jazz stood, stretching leisurely, "I got a lot to make up for."

"Whatever, I'm hungry." The femme shrugged.

"That's still not funny, Pinky." Lockdown said.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Springer spat energon that seeped from the cut his denta made on the inside of his jaw and held the lower part of his thigh together.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn't have gone in with just HotRod. They'd rescued a former teammate's sparkling, but at the cost of nearly getting filleted. Apparently, bringing a gun to a knife fight didn't matter if you were outnumbered.

"Yi."

His helm snapped up at the call and the gang's ringleader turned around irritably as a steeljaw pup started barking at him as if her spark depended on it. Springer took his optics off their assailants for a nano. The gaudy black and blue flames painting the little thing's frame made him think of Flamewar. An angry snort from the pup confirmed it, but what was she doing _here_?

"Shut it up!"

One mech made to grab at the pup and a force dragged him away and split him in two. The rest of the mechs quickly dwindled until it was just, he, Hot Rod, and Strongarm left. Roddy's left side was mangled and the sparkling cadet couldn't fight mechs this size. He was all alone in this.

But Wreckers didn't call for back up…

He stood slowly so he wouldn't attract anymore attention than they needed, fingering the hilt of his rotor blades.

Two of the new gang had split off, picking at a frame. The other two seemed to be studying one deceased 'former until Strongarm starting clicking. A solid blue glow locked on to them and the shorter one started forward.

Springer pressed the other two against the wall and steeled himself for a fight. He was plenty bigger than this one—it shouldn't be too bad.

"Get. Back."

The visored one dropped his blade, "Calm down, Springs, we're trying tah help."

"Jazz?!" The green mech looked up, focusing on the slighter silhouette, "Arcee?!"

"Hello again." She stroked his helm with an unnerving scrape of claws, obviously still mad about him uncovering her alter ego. "Looks like you owe me another favor."

He frowned as his energon involuntarily ran cold.

"So, you're gonna eat him?" Lockdown asked bluntly.

She looked up with playful smirk, "He's made of different stuff and we have an arrangement…" Arcee spun around with a gleeful energy inappropriate for the mess surrounding them and clasped servos behind her back. "It's twice now I've saved your life, Springer…your debts are adding up."

"This time makes one. Put it on my tab."

Arcee peered around him, optics locking on Hot Rod, "You're a mess, Roadburn. Want me to fix?"

He quickly nodded and she called the Praxian over.

"Oh…this isn't great…" she whipped her helm back, "Lock, get the kid."

Annoyed, Lockdown dropped the parts he was scavenging and stormed over, still having the decency to shake off the energon clinging to his servos. "Why me?"

"Ironically, you're probably the only one who knows how to calm her down and you've still got a butterfly on your forehelm. You're the picture of sparkling-friendly."

HotRod attempted to snicker at his handiwork but it made a hard, scraping noise come from his innards.

"Take it easy, Roadburn. So…you've had it rough then?"

"Well, we found Strongarm in a black market," Hot Rod muttered, "Then these jokers tailed us."

"Mech, just take off the stupid Auto-brand! Maybe you'd get shot at less," Lockdown scolded.

Springer slapped a line of mesh over his gash and stood up straight. "You all really don't get it, do you? It's not about the past—right now, we're the only thing standing between complete chaos enveloping Cybertron because **one mech** thought this was the right way to do things. If Megatron hadn't done this we wouldn't even _be_ here. Nobody would be dead."

"Nah. We'd be at our assigned functions like happy little drones, getting killed off when we aren't convenient anymore. Some of us even have the pleasure of dying early because we're not wired the 'right' way." The black streaked mechling spat, "In fact, I've got a hunch your brother over there might be an outlier. Would you prefer that?"

And that was it. Springer had had it. He was going to ram Lockdown's helm into the wall as many times as it took until the freak shut up.

Maybe it was not wanting to terrify Strongarm but Lockdown held his cool, though he was motioning Jazz to come get the sparkling.

Arcee sat her tools down with a deafening click, "Not here. Not now. Not about this subject." She sounded drained, flat. Oddly enough that was the calmest he'd ever heard her. Even Prowl looked up at the empty tone.

His anger manifested in a challenging engine rev and she answered with a barely audible hiss.

"Don't fight me on this one. You wanna be as clueless as the adults, do that on a battlefield; no shortage of either of them."

He ignored her in favor of glaring at the dark mech, "I'm not _stupid_. I know what the Autobots did, but did you ever think some of them didn't want that? I want to help fix what went wrong. The way I see it, you're either part of the solution or the problem."

Apparently muted by his crush, Lockdown responded with narrowed optics, "I plead the third."

Springer wasn't the type to spoil for a fight now, really, but spurred on by the pain in his leg and the humiliation of being rescued by their "partners" on a separate mission ate at him worse than scraplets. "Coward."

The shorter mech wore a thin smile laced with acid, "If you say so, Springs."

Great…so he was the bad guy now…

After this nightmare, he'd expected Strongarm to squirm out of the creepy mechling's arms. Something about the combination of the freak's EM and the stupid doodle on his forehelm didn't terrify her. She sniffled every now and again but she was busy watching Prowl.

The Praxian had finished assisting and was helping Arcee stand HotRod up. When Jazz ducked beneath one wing to take his place, old battered decals caught the light from where they were hidden beneath the graffiti.

"You're an enforcer!" Strongarm crowed, proudly showing off her own decaled wings.

"No. I am not." Prowl muttered, tone short and professional as the movements he was using to help him on his good side. "Now as much as I'd love a socio-ethical debate in a cold, bloody alleyway, I'd actually like to get home and get some recharge before I get arrested or attacked again."

Springer cut Strongarm's next question off with a look. He pulled her out of Lockdown's grip, allowing her to sit on his shoulders. The creep then ducked around to his bad side, digits scraping his thigh with a screech. Springer bit back a swear and scream in one intake.

"Oh. My bad."

He was seriously regretting not socking him.

" _Lockdown."_ Prowl warned.

HotRod accepted the help willingly, he didn't have a choice. Arcee had pumped his lines full of antivirals and pain meds. "So, you're not 'Bot or 'Con," he garbled, "What are you guys?"

"The _Fratènite nan idyo_." Arcee answered.

"Stop calling us that, its gonna stick!" Lockdown grouched. He then locked optics with Springer, "Just The _Fratènite._ "The Brotherhood" in Cy-Stan. We work for anyone who'll pay us."

Springer quietly accepted his explanation and let it lie. So, he ignored the nameless 'formers that Jazz talked to before they left and the energon smears on Lockdown's subspace… and not at all accidental scrapes to his wound.

Ask for favors from the dark side and that's what you get.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Arcee sighed. They'd almost made it back to their quarters when Lockdown shushed them before they entered their level, "Beryl."

Everyone had hung out with the femme by now. She dropped in unannounced every megacycle usually with some sort of odd or end as a gift. Beryl was attempting to take care of them. Surprisingly, she wasn't sick of seeing her coolant-trail faceplate every cycle.

Spade, rest her distorted spark, had always meant well, but facts were, she was going to put you through the wringer and enjoy watching you squirm in the name of forging strength. In contrast, Beryl seemed like she was two steps from attempting to tuck them in before recharge.

The slate femme especially seemed concerned about Lockdown. Considering face-tattoos weren't all that common and probably a cry for help, she could see why. Arcee guessed it was no different than the way she treated Jazz. Caring for others was cathartic after a long, bloody work-cycle. Beryl was nice in a way that didn't come off as ill-intentioned. It was genuine…sweet...in a weird vehicle mode way. That was up until she opened the door and their landlord was standing there.

In their flat.

With the nerve to look at them as if they were late.

Then her optics traveled to HotRod wavering between she and Jazz, freshly torn patches weeping energon all over the floor. Those thin filaments on her helm flattened as she gave way to a new, solemn mood, "Should I call someone?"

After recovering from the slight shock, Lockdown managed, "No, we've got him."

Beryl collected Strongarm and swung her onto one hip as if it were second nature. "C'mere sparklet, let them work. We'll get you cleaned up."

Meanwhile, she spread HotRod out on a mat, "Prowl, get over here and give me a servo."

The Praxian flinched, "Again?"

"You've got moderately sized servos and the rest of these 'formers I don't trust making non-lethal incisions. Hurry, before he bleeds out." She poked the back of HotRod's helm, "I'm putting you in stasis, Roadburn."

He nodded weakly and she set on connecting the severed lines in his frame. It wasn't the worst she'd seen by far—he wouldn't be walking straight anytime soon, though. "Hold his plating apart, I'm going in."

Arcee could hear the gurgle on processed energon going the wrong way. "Purge and I'll make you eat it, nerd."

"Wasn't him," Beryl called groggily. "It's something different outside a battlefield…"

 **~ Springer's bad off. ~** She heard Jazz state and drag a mat parallel to them. For the sake of looking normal he finished out loud, "Want us to get Springs?"

"Sure."

The green and yellow mech started to protest.

"Don't wanna hear it from _any of you_. Keep him lucid so he can watch Roadburn. Jazz, you fix that gash; Lockdown, keep him still, DO NOT SCRATCH HIM AGAIN."

Springer hissed quietly as he eased himself down, "Can't Beryl help?"

"I don't like blood, so unless you want a bigger mess…" The slate colored femme trailed off, still clanking around in their kitchen, "So which one of you had a kid? Or is she a sibling? Never can tell these cycles…"

"Orphan," Springer called, fighting the urge to kick Jazz in the faceplates after he yanked a wire too hard. "Just got her off the black market...her parentages were in our crew."

Arcee could feel Prowl questioning the wisdom of openly discussing dead parents in front of an orphaned sparkling. **~ She knows. Didn't you get the "If I don't come back talk"? ~**

 **~ Yeah… I just—she's four! ~**

 **~ She's also tired and in shock. Someone else will get her. ~**

Meanwhile, Beryl responded to the verbal conversation. "Good lord. Do I even want to know about the rest of you?"

"Nah." Lockdown said.

She sat with Strongarm on her lap and the sparkling tipped up her cube. Seeing the energon, Flamewar climbed next to the sparkling to wait her turn. Beryl glanced at the hound, "And what do you think you're doing?"

The pup chirruped, optics firmly fixed on Strongarm's cube.

"It's not yours."

Flamewar made that whining hound-speak noise and clicked her jaws.

The argument was only for show as it entertained the sparkling. It continued long enough for Arcee to finish the deep sutures and turn the welding over to Prowl. She propped herself up on the floor with arms behind her, kibble inching up in a stretch.

Beryl finally let out an angry huff, "Enough. I aint arguing with a critter that eats floor crumbs."

"Here, puppy," Strongarm offered the pup her empty cube and Flamewar munched away, smirking at the adult.

"She's cute. I like her flames." The white and blue sparkling said to no one in particular. Arcee watched her doorwings raise in interest as she stroked the pup. The sunny, yellow chevron marked her as Praxian and the Terrorcon counted down the nanos until she focused back on Prowl.

"You _are_ an Enforcer. You've just got all that junk on your wings. Why'd you lie?"

"Because being that isn't exactly in my favor right now. If you haven't noticed they're the ones getting mowed down across Cybertron."

"But you took an oath…"

" _I_ never graduated." Prowl took on an icy tone, "Besides, those before me did. Doesn't mean _I_ have to keep it."

Arcee expected Strongarm to spook, and she did, but not in the way she expected.

The sparkling frowned, tone far too serious for her age, "You went _**rouge**_."

If she only knew she was in a room full of them.

Beryl patted her helm, "It's more to life than black and white, little one."

Strongarm finally stopped glaring at Prowl and turned attention to Flamewar grooming her. She'd found a splotch of blood Beryl's sink bath had missed.

The little pup was an amazingly fickle creature if you had food and you met her standards. Their four 'former squad were her favorite, everyone else she bit, ignored, or kept her distance from. Now it seemed she'd added Strongarm to the list the way they cuddled and a carried on. Being they were about the same size, they fit together perfectly. Soon they were both passed out next to Beryl.

The slate femme watched them for a klik making sure Strongarm was out.

"I make it my business not ta get into people's business, but I can't help but notice things. Savvy?"

"Kinda," Jazz trailed off.

"I figured something was wrong… I saw you all watching these three like Predacons when they were getting beat." She said suddenly. That only served to throw their bond into chaos yet again with anxiety.

"Nope, don't tell me, I don't wanna know. Just be careful out there."

Beryl addressed the cadets next. "So…you two ran into tha local gang? You'll be marked from now on. Next time _stay_ in the territory marked with this symbol." She etched an Autobot insignia with a hammer-like crest at its center onto the floor.

"Thought the old coot taught ya better. Wreckers are taking the turf over, including this area. They don't want what's happening around Cybertron to start here; they're like the Enforcers from pit."

"Do we need to worry about em?" Arcee asked.

"Not if you're not doing illegal scrap. You two 'Bots will probably wanna check in with Kup after this." Beryl hoisted herself upright with a grunt, "I swear this planet gets smaller every nano… I'll go get 'em. Y'all hide whatever it is you need to hide. I'll go get the dent helms."

"Doesn't sound like you like em much."

Arcee watched her give a non-committal shrug, "You kidding? My best friend is in with em, designations KD. You'll love her. I just hate going down there cuz a Whirl."

Springer shivered.

"See? Even 'Bots scared of 'im. Crazy chopper, got his helm blown to bits so he only has one optic, and pinchers for servos. Hates 'Cons with a burning hatred of a thousand suns. Lockdown, you stay 'way from down there." Beryl smiled with the type of warmth Arcee never remembered in Spade's vocals. "Y'all get some rest. I'll be back."

She came back with Blaster and a blocky, elder mech, his green armor paled by wear. His designation was Kup. Arcee hated him already. He smelled like that gully. He smelled like her. He smelled like her old house. He smelled like her sibling—

A migraine-like ache seized her either her processors or her spark and she felt Jazz wrench her back.

 **~ There's a reason someone took your memories. He's one of you. ~**

 **~ I don't like him. ~**

Jazz shifted to sit up straighter, **~ Does he mean any harm? ~**

 **~ Dunno. It's my first time meeting another Terror in this mindset. ~**

Kup knelt to check over his charges and in a fraction of a nano those Autobot blue optics zeroed in on her, narrowed with suspicion. That quickly turned to disgust once he took a gander at the rest of them and their shared connections.

 **~ Great…he knows. ~** Arcee hissed.

 **~ Want me to help kill him? ~**

She narrowed her optics in turn, unable to get a fix on his spark. **~ No, geezers are the worst. He's got more experience than either of us. Play it cool. ~**

"So yeah, some gangbangers came and tore Roddy up." Beryl chirped as if there weren't two beaten younglings on the floor.

The ancient mech hummed, "Anyone you know?"

Beryl shrugged, replying shortly, "New punks. Don't have to worry about them now." She frowned at the look the pale green mech gave her, her attempt at cheer gone sour, "Kup, _Ah didn't_. They did."

He gave four of the younglings a hard look. "Thanks for helping them out." The typical responses burbled back but Arcee stayed silent, busying herself with cleaning up. It wasn't only the badge, something about his posture made her tank churn. He reeked of a Terrorcon that had gone too far into his guise.

"You did pretty good on his weldi—"

Arcee cut Kup off, "He needs to be kept still in transport, Springer needs to be kept off his leg, and Strongarm should be kept under observation."

She feigned having to fix something in the back room, only coming back once she was sure they'd left.

Flamewar, grouchy her source of heat had been taken away, had curled up next to Lockdown and was relaxing already along with everyone else.

Arcee didn't.

Beryl still lingered around, nursing a cube of mid-grade of her own. She flicked the shard-like filaments that normally laid flat on her helm, "Aggh, think I got a glass shard in my back." Her shoulders rotated stiffly and she made optic contact with Arcee. "Kiddo, help me take off my plating."

That request caught the mechs off guard.

Prowl ducked his wings, "You want us to go—"

"Stay," her tone forced it into a stern demand without her normal, playful lilt. "You're gonna learn right now."

Arcee carefully pulled her plating away, revealing intricate, colorful tattooing all over her visible protoform. Miner tools arranged at points on her back, a black, vaporous depiction of a Terrorcon twining through them, and various, multicolored glyphs painting the rest.

"Those gang members you took out? I used to be with their circuit. I aint mad, just want you to know it's a dangerous game you're playing, younglings, but someone's already told you, huh?" She smiled over her back, quieter this time, "I like y'all. Reminds me of me an my old friends."

"Are they dead?" Arcee asked bluntly.

"Naw. We split up, KD an Looper followed me, though."

One hesitant digit traced a prominent glyph at the base of her neck, "You were higher up." Jazz breathed.

"I was _Vertex_ Nequois, 'lil Ops." She beamed, "Wasn't nobody higher… Funny, everyone is the good guy in their optics. It isn't until you see the effect, you're having that you realize _you're_ part of the problem.

I got tired of the gang life, took my 'formers out with me, new guy took over, and we parted ways. A good leader knows when to call it. That's why ah like Pax. 'Lil mech finally wised up and left his big bro. The Autobots are busted up, but with the right 'formers things can change."

"I still hate them." Lockdown and Arcee spat at the same time.

"Purposes change, sometimes names stay the same. Gon haveta get over it." She stood, snapping her plating back on. "People been using you, haven't they?"

They all sat mute on the common room floor.

The gangster in her came out as she canted her helm sideways lifting it so she was looking down her olfactory at them. "Ah'd like an answer."

Starting with Prowl, they all nodded.

"That's what I thought. Listen, aint no one beating down my door either because of my rep or cuz they think I'm a crazy dumpster femme. Ah like kids. I'm gonna look out for yah. Remember, what's legal and what's right isn't always the same thing. Just do your part and don't get caught."

Lecture apparently over for the day, Beryl plopped onto the couch, "Mind if I crash? Call me old fashioned but I don't like the idea of a bunch of teens rooming alone and one of 'ems a femme. Ah seen some weird scrap. This one time—"

"Okay! Sure. Whatever." Lockdown conceded, "Stay."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

Some orns later proved everyone liked having a new flat mate.

Beryl's only rules were minimal swearing and to comm if you were going to be in late. That won Arcee over. Well—that and the fact some polish she'd given her repaired the crack in her guise. She didn't pick at Prowl for wanting to learn; she shifted her scavenging skills to tracking down old pads. Jazz liked her because she sang. Sweet, dulcet vocals that could lull a titan into recharge.

Music was the one thing that tied the assassin's family together. Everyone liked it, everyone could do something lyrical. With others, music forded boundaries and forged bonds.

Lockdown, however, wasn't one of those 'formers. Music was background noise and school pads made no sense in a world where war had been declared.

Two mega cycles ago, they'd all been in Blaster's lounge and the place still had an upbeat vibe despite the chaos surrounding them. Now there were Autobot soldiers on every corner and the call for 'formers to enlist…at least they hadn't run a draft yet. With things gone to scrap, he wasn't positive anyone would be so apt just to let a bunch of younglings run off with their own ship.

He could work out the details later; there was always another way.

The point was, sooner or later they'd have to get going again. It confused him why he wasn't so ready to leave. The Wreckers and other residents gave him hostile looks. Besides a place to stay, Beryl had nothing to offer him. Didn't mean she didn't try.

And as if she'd been summoned, Beryl strode into his room with the finesse of a runaway freighter. "Hey, Lock, ever been convicted of a B&E?"

He adjusted the "liberated" part he was cleaning with a glare, "No."

Undeterred she snagged it, turning his latest victim's hardware end over end. If Beryl smelled the residual energon that had coated his desk, she didn't let on. "You ever want to flirt with it?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the adult?"

"Yeah and I wanna see my sparklinghood one last time. I'm breaking in, your buds are coming; you want in?"

Lockdown shifted slightly, gearing up to tell her to "get lost" in the friendliest way he could muster.

"Ugggh, no way you can be this boring… All ya do sit around and skulk while I'm here, let's go do somthin'."

The femme strode off, returning the part back to his servo, and suddenly refurbishing parts seemed a lot less interesting. He could hear Arcee picking another fight with the newly recuperated HotRod and Jazz pacing around the front door. From the sounds of it they'd roped Prowl into coming along.

Lockdown stood up faster than his systems were accustomed to and roused Flamewar from her den of cleaning rags in the corner.

It wasn't like he had better to do; he followed.

Downstairs, Beryl flagged a sizable flier down, "KD!"

Said flier took a step back, reddish bronze frame cowering behind a minibot. "WHO ARE YOU?"

For a split nano Lockdown thought she was serious, the next their landlord had embraced them with hugs and the type of loud conversation he and his siblings got yelled at for. From Blaster's rolling optics as he passed, this was normal enough behavior.

"Kiddos this is KD and Looper," Beryl nodded squeezing both 'formers closer. "Tha wind beneath my metaphorical wings and my right servo."

The flier grinned broadly, downward canted wings rising marginally, "Howdy."

"Looper" was the monochromatic mini with zero expression, quietly watching them watch her.

Lockdown glared, "What's wrong with her?"

"Lockdown…" Prowl hissed.

"Aw, how cute, he doesn't have manners." KD cooed.

"That the whole lot of 'em," Beryl huffed, "An Looper just doesn't talk."

"Why?"

The minibot looked him up and down with a look caught between "Why not?" and "Screw you.".

Beryl planted a servo on her tiny helm it lolling back and forth, "Yeah…we can't take her to any bars. She can talk; she just doesn't."

"Speakin' a quiet 'formers," KD ventured, "I heard Megsy's tentacle minion got his vocals ripped out."

"Who dunnit?"

"Deadlock."

Now that was news… Lockdown figured the acid-eaten chain holding his mood swings together finally snapped.

Prowl started off in the partial whisper he'd started to associate with them narrowly forgetting to speak out loud. "See, I told you he was unstable. What goes around, comes around."

"Hey, it was him or become plague fox chow."

KD looked between them, then to Beryl. "Uhh…"

The bulky femme sighed, "Femmes, meet my renters. Short Stuff, Doorwings, Slag Stirrer, and Always Pissed Off. They're shady and don't like to talk about themselves."

Looper gave her a questioning gaze.

"No. You two would've been the first to know."

"Designations like that I can see why…" KD snickered, "Y'all know the crazy mech?"

Prowl made a face, picking through the right words, "He attempted to abduct us and bring us to Kaon on Soundwave's orders."

The flier's shoulders slumped. "Banned."

"KD," Beryl whined.

"Banned! Femme, I'm banning you from taking in strays!"

"Sounders has enough problems without dealing with them."

"And what if he gets some spare time—"

Lockdown tuned out the rest of their banter as they finally left the complex, only to find himself hounded by the nosy HotRod.

"You guys turned down a summon from Decepticon High Command?"

Deciding it was better not to tell the loudmouth the full truth, he agreed with a nod.

"Why?"

"Because if I don't answer to any commander, I can do what I want, however I like it, and as messed up as I'd like it."

The fiery colored mechling backed off, choosing to hover between Springer and the not-quite-Enforcers.

 **~ And because you were all scared. ~** Arcee added, matching his pace. **~ Not a bad thing; fear is healthy especially with High Commanders. ~**

 **~ Why'd you join? ~**

 **~ I thought it was the right thing, family pressure…the norm. It's self-serving, but I like your idea better. ~**

On a dimly lit street, Beryl plowed forward waving her arms as a hunk of amusement park ride came down in a cloud of dust. It would have been funny if she hadn't suddenly broken out of her generally bright mood suddenly gave way to a panicked run.

"Hold up! Hold up! Yah tearing it down now?"

The neon construction mech turned, "Yup. Under orders. It's getting harder to find materials up north, easier to take down this."

She shook her helm. "Just like that."

"Yeah. I'd let you stay but it ain't safe."

Lockdown watched the mech study the pack of younglings behind her, which unfortunately he was a part of.

Great. He was becoming the very thing he mocked—a crowd 'former. He could feel the stupidity seeping in already. That thought was followed by the sensation on being kicked in three different places by three different 'formers, each with radically different definitions of "a fair place to assault someone over a bond".

 **~ You're no ray of sunshine either. ~** Prowl muttered, **~ Your feedback is horrific. Is dismembering all you think about? ~**

 **~ It's not dismembering, its strategic removal. Harder than it looks. ~**

 **~ I've seen. ~**

Lockdown pushed the others out and watched as Beryl broke off conversation with the construction mech.

"Thanks, we'll just go." She walked off with slumped shoulders, good mood destroyed like half of this park... or Uraya.

The construction mech let out a heavy vent and Lockdown realized he was the only one left. "Sorry kid. Guess you were looking forward to-"

"Not really, it was her idea."

He then snatched up some overly soft prize from a destroyed game booth. It was made of that weird, cheap material Cybertronian merchants used to replicate off-world organic materials. He didn't care for the stuff, but it was the same soft shade of Arcee's paint job and in the shape of a feline-like creature that reminded him of her beast mode. He picked up another, stowing them both in his subspace. "I'm taking these."

"Be my guest, kid."

Lockdown found everyone else outside a barrier fence, most notably, Beryl with her digits stuck through the chain link as if she were grasping for a lover.

He stopped next to her, "Why did this scrapyard mean so much to you?"

Again, three different sensations jabbed him, this time for not showing a little sensitivity to the 'former willing to put up with his scrap.

Instead of getting mad, Beryl lit up, "Kid, where do I start... This used to be a symbol of luxury, then okayish, and then once they started letting other castes in the high castes left and it started getting run down. When I was growing up, not everyone could come here, but they lifted the ban one cycle. Mechling, we thought we were hot stuff, the trashiest looking 'formers there. Ya couldn't keep me outta here after that."

KD laughed, "They just caved and gave her a free pass after an eon."

Beryl was on a roll after that, "Got my first kiss over there, first brawl under the giant slide, dragged Kup's rusty tail from behind the coaster, I saved Looper from a Preda over there—"

"Had I known I'd made that little of an impression I wouldn't have bothered coming over."

The aged co-leader of the Wreckers walked up, supporting a rather ancient dark mech as he did.

She put on a smile that was equal parts exasperation and happiness, "Hey, Master. Kup, you axle grinder..."

Apparently used to the slur, the light green mech eased his friend down to a carefully crushed beam and sidled up to Beryl. "Don't even start, femme."

The dark mech spoke up, "I wanted to come all the way out here, don't blame Kup."

Beryl made an effort to put distance between them, turning around to face one of the newcomers with a dangerous expression. "I can and I will, you shouldn't be out here."

"So we missed it, then." A purple and bronze mech brushed past Lockdown, frame betraying him as a miner class. "Just in time to see Twitch's alpha fit, though. Hey Looper."

The speechless femme gave a small wave and KD snorted. "No hi for the rest of us?"

"Nope," the new, nameless mech bit, "Didn't know you guys were sparkling-sitting."

Lockdown stifled the urge to growl like a Predacon—he couldn't tell where that impulse was coming from.

With two twitching digits, Springer covertly signaled him, _:: Trust me, you don't want to fight that. That's Impactor. ::_

 _:: Is his designation supposed mean anything to me? ::_

Taking the high road, the triple-changer chose not to take the bait. _:: The other co-leader of the Wreckers. Old mech is Master Yoketron, his dojo is in that warehouse you've been messing around in. He's like an authority of martial arts. ::_

 _:: Really? ::_ Prowl asked and Lockdown shut them both out of his comm. He didn't care. There were millions of piles of rubble out there and this one was allegedly special… Lockdown wanted to go back to the flat.

Meanwhile, Beryl was talking again. "We're showing them the end of an era and paying our respects."

HotRod finally said what they all were thinking by now, "It's just an old amusement park."

There was a shared silence between the adults in the same way the four of them, the _Fratènite,_ did.

"Nah, it's more than that." Kup said, "Things like this rise in peacetime. The fact it's being taken down means two things: peace is over and we're scrapped for supplies." He paused, "You all can keep your traps shut, right? The thing is, I've been to the lower levels and talked to Percy… Cybertron is dying."

"So, I was right," Arcee hissed.

"Would that make crystals dim?" Jazz piped up.

Her kibble hiked higher on her back, "Where'd you see that?"

"Miz."

The Terrorcon's over-bright optics darted around in thought, "If the decay is at surface level now…we gotta get out of here."

"Calm down, femme," Kup snorted, "Planet aint going dark just yet, it could be a fluke."

In return, Arcee made a grumbling noise.

"So, one place goes down and that's the end of the world?" HotRod asked.

"No kid. There have been civil wars, but nothing of this scale at such an awful time. Burn this scene into your processors, younglings. We're never going to see anything like it again."

Kup was met with looks of confusion from the young.

The dark mech spoke up, "They've known nothing but caste and division all their lives. I doubt they feel anything towards this."

"They will." Beryl said ominously.

"I brought the good engex." Impactor tempted, breaking the hollow silence that had settled over the group.

"Alright! All is forgiven!" KD crowed.

"Hey, we might all be dead a vorn from now, give the kids some." Kup nodded.

Without thinking, Lockdown supplied "Prowl drank himself sick last time, don't give him any."

"I could have told ya they drank already. Bitlets have been around." Beryl chuckled at Kup's frown.

Impactor dispensed them each a small cube the size of a standard digit segment. "Go ahead. You won't be tucking this back like sweet en."

It looked the same. Smelled the same. They all took a sip around the same time and promptly started choking a nano after. Lockdown wasn't worried about poisoning, Jazz had taken it…then again that was a warning in itself, wasn't it?

Prowl and the 'Bot cadets were taking it the worst.

"What is that?!"

"It's been fermenting since what—Decimus Magnus?"

"Tastes like tank rot."

Kup patted HotRod's back, "That's the taste of quality. Not that overly sweet stuff."

"Mine is better," Jazz chimed.

Prowl paused in scraping his glossa long enough to hiss, "Jazz, nobody wants to drink what you made, good chance its spiked."

"It is. More for me then."

Silence reigned between them as the construction noise took over. Prowl scaled and managed to perch on the top of the fence to get a better look.

"Now that's real pretty." KD crooned, "How'd you do that?"

"Practice."

"Watch this." Springer rattled the chain-link violently and Prowl didn't budge. "He sticks to stuff like a grill-gecko."

The white opticed mech gave Prowl a funny look. "That is an excellent skill."

"Thanks."

"You should come back to the warehouse tomorrow. I could show you a trick or two."

Lockdown could tell the Praxian was thinking it over. They had a hunt slated for the following lunar joor and he normally used the early joors to scout the area.

"No. I can't."

The adults hung around, telling stories up until the construction debris got too thick and they finally left.

Walking back, Beryl clapped an arm over Lockdown's shoulder, "So'd you enjoy yourself? You even got to drink!"

"It was okay…" he admitted quietly.

And she smiled, "That's all I needed to hear."

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

The puppy was gnawing on someone's detached optic.

Springer dropped his reports. He was aiming to make a career out of not seeing things he clearly did—he'd seen worse—but for some reason _this_ was jarring. It was becoming too much. He came back to the flat routinely, if only to show his face or if Jazz blackmailed them into coming over. Normally Springer liked to mind his own business, really, he did. So, when they gained four creepy neighbors after Uraya he decided he wouldn't say anything. They were all exhausted, things would get better.

But they didn't.

When he and HotRod didn't tag along on their "rent runs", some cycles they'd disappear and come back bloody, dented, or torn to near oblivion. Lockdown, in particular, always came back with "spare" parts that still had fresh energon in them. Since they'd saved their afts, he looked over it, even if his conscious killed him for it.

The plating on his back rattled. That creep _had_ to be a Decepticon, Meister was a level five threat, and something was _wrong_ with that Enforcer youngling. That left the femme. Why Arcee tagged along with them was beyond him. Out of the four she was the only "normal" one…a thought he never considered he'd process about a Terrorcon. At least she followed coding…then again, her lack of interest in eating targets proved even she didn't adhere it.

He wasn't going to pretend as if the Wreckers didn't cross the line. In fact, he might be the most conscious driven one—something Impactor definitely was never going to stop trying to drive out of him. It was one thing to do something under the banner of a faction, it was another to be completely amoral.

Speaking of, Arcee darted into the room.

"Flamewar, bad! Give it back!"

The pup snarled clamping on tighter to her prize causing Arcee to snatch her up by the scruff.

"Ah, sorry, was she bothering you?"

"Ummm," he pointed at the part in the steeljaw's mouth.

"That would be some of my supplies." She finally pried the optic out of tiny jaws and subspaced it, bright yellow optics smiling. For now.

Hot Rod was still intent on showing off for her and it never had an effect. The only one that had a reaction was Lockdown, now mostly in the form of looking like he was going to murder the hothead.

The words, "Are you in trouble?" tumbled out followed by, "Are they blackmailing you to stay?"

She cackled, "You saw me a few orns ago. I _am_ trouble incarnate; they're hopeless, so we hang out," she shrugged.

"If there's anything I can do let me know."

"You worry too much…but thanks, Autobot. Still doesn't get you off the hook for those two favors."

After that, they were much more careful about what he saw them up to. It wasn't until a few cycles later he discovered the truth.

There was a hidden Enforcers/Autobot forum simply titled "lost and found" so he posted: _'Found: Springer, Hot Rod, Strongarm; in search of other Cadet Unit 80 survivors.'_

He was hit with a wall of responses, none from their Unit members, but from several instructors. Some were nearby, most importantly Kup, affirming they were with his crew. He continued talking, pulling Hot Rod in with him. For some reason, Roddy mentioned their roommates...and the text on his pad temporarily halted. Then a single reply pinged up.

' _Springer, do you realize who they are?'_

There was a video clip circulating on the forum from a surviving Urayan Enforcer that showed three younglings acting as a lure for a pack of Predacons. Then there was a blurry video of an unmistakably pink 'former slaughtering anything in her path.

And there was recent, graphic, cobbled together footage of all four hunting down various 'formers.

Prowl, Jazz, Arcee, and Lockdown.

Which brought him to what he was doing presently, waiting right inside the front door for them to enter. He wanted to hear exactly what lame excuse they had for helping a whole city-state burn.

HotRod had similar plans and his modification to help. There was some long, scientific name for it but they both just called it "fwooph". As in: the second that faceplate painted freak set ped in the building he was going to be fwoophed with flames.

But they never entered through their front door.

His only hint to someone entering was a hushed voice tickling his audio.

"What's up with trying to gun us down in our own flat?"

Of course, Jazz snuck in from the back.

Springer was too mad to care and didn't mince words, "You all helped them destroy Uraya!"

"You weren't there," Lockdown glared as he came with the others, "We were forced into it and let loose as bait, Autobot."

"What makes you think I'll believe you?"

"A favor and our word." Arcee said firmly, "We wouldn't go out of our way just to kiss up to a bunch of terrorists. Well—I might—but we've got better goals."

He folded his arms defiantly.

"Please, Springer? If they get caught again it's not gonna be pretty."

A spark for a spark…wasn't that how Kup said it went? He could make up some lame excuse for missing them. HotRod was doing a pretty good job of portraying the disapproving look he was bound to get once he lied.

"Really, Springer?"

"Yes, really," Springer ex-vented, "We're supposed to call em when you came in. Get outta here, don't get caught, Wreckers are on high alert."

"You owe us." HotRod called.

Jazz loosened up the makeshift back door they'd come in from. "Keep an optic on your inboxes, see ya Roddy."

They'd gotten as far as the threshold before a bronze and purple behemoth attacked them.

 **~o~o~o~o~o~**

As night fell, Beryl casually burst into the youngling's flat shifting a fast food bag of energon. "You won't believe what I got ahold of!"

Her filaments shot up as she detected no movement or sparks and overturned furniture. She drifted through the main room, digit tips grazing over the faint scuff of purple paint left on the floor. Having gotten what she needed, Beryl headed to the basement lounge.

She found a seat in the back along with Kup watching the room.

"Hello, bitty."

"Old coot." The dumpster diving femme dropped the unopened bag on their table with an aggressive clink.

"All that fer me?"

Beryl gave him a sardonic look and tossed him a highgrade from subspace, "We were all gonna have dinner an' a movie-night."

"That so?" he ventured, still not phased by her obvious mood.

"You didn't tell me you were raising some strays. Would have called sooner if I knew they were yours."

"Last time I saw you was two Magnus' ago and you were still threatening to beat me with my own arm… didn't seem appropriate. Thanks for lookin' after em." He stirred his energon around. "Never thought you'd go for looking after a scruffy pack like the rest of them, thought you would have offered to take Strongarm."

"You know me, I like lost causes."

"Missed you," he said suddenly, "But I'm guessing you didn't come here to reminisce."

Her helm dropped like a stone into a cant, _:: I saw the flat. What did your crew do with 'em? ::_

 _:: Holding cell.::_ Kup said flatly.

 _:: Fer what! ::_

 _:: Treason, and I got half a processor to put ya in there too. ::_

She squared her shoulders, _:: I only saw em take out the 'formers hurting_ your _charges. ::_

 _:: So, you knew— ::_

 _:: Nothin'. Just that they're scared, abused, and in some sort of trouble. ::_

Kup matched her posture with his knowing way, _:: And? ::_

 _:: And that's all I got. Everything's peaceful so it aint none of my concern. ::_

 _:: For a former Vertex I don't believe you. ::_

She didn't flinch, _:: Low blow, old coot. ::_

 _:: When I let your old members in and let you go free it was to help police this town, not start a new gang. ::_

A fist banged on the table, noise muffled by the bass. For once, she found herself grateful for Blaster noise. _:: I aint and I'm doing ya a favor, fragger. I'm trying to stop them from becoming what the Nequois were. No one has been looking out for them for a long time, Kup. I don't care what they've done, I'm trying to help 'em now. ::_

A muted, feral glint crept into Kup's optics, _:: From what we can tell they helped kill Enforcers in Uraya and then they were contracting themselves out as bounty hunters. ::_

 _:: Smart kids. ::_

 _::_ Beryl. _::_ he bit over the comm.

 _:: You gonna kill a buncha unarmed 'formers like your mechs did in the purges? ::_ she spat back even as he stared her down. _:: We were there trying to stop you all. You don't forget something like that. The Taigu remnant took you in in good faith and you turned your back on everything they gave you. And for what? The Autobot code? The love of a build type that hates what you really are? I_ _ **saw you.**_ _Ya worse than tha 'Cons ya fight, ya traitor. ::_

Kup growled, unwilling to let her go further, _:: That was a long time ago. ::_

 _:: Not nearly long enough…. ::_ she sat up, _:: Lay one servo on the femme and I'll gut you myself. ::_

The music abated for a klik and she quietly reveled in the hurt she'd inflicted, then Kup came back somewhat subdued.

 _:: We were a bunch of vehi-mode raised Terrors. We didn't know what we were doing. ::_

She huffed.

 _:: If it means anything, her people were probably taken out in the final purge. Not by us. ::_

That was true. Their team only took the outliers. And then, the Autobots came back to deactivate the Terrors they'd trained.

Beryl still remembered playing with the blurry sparklings in the Letalis mines until her sire realized what they were. Then there was the time she'd gotten hunted down by a familiar blurry, red badge branded, green streaked youngling and spared. She returned the favor by hiding him when her clan came after him. Saving Kup was followed by a long stretch of frequently hanging out for vorns even more so when their abusive director conveniently died. After she got out warm, happy times followed that she hated to think about it because it contracted so harshly with the Kup she saw after the gave out an order to take out outliers…

It was raining acid in sheets and they were slicked in each other's energon, locked tighter than when they'd bonded—only with blades and more plating. She'd let him go and stormed off with her new gang. That hadn't been her Kup anyway.

Apparently, he'd thought the same thing about her. Vorns went by, the bond went unused, they'd managed to survive, and somehow, they always met long enough to trade a dirty look every other century.

She didn't like the fact he'd still stuck with the Autobots despite their cruelty. He hated the fact she ran a notorious gang. Then he'd moved back to Letalis after the Decepticons made their move. There wasn't any choice but to be somewhat civil after that. And then he had the nerve to smile like he used to.

It was then the easy listening scrap came on, peaking to a dull roar, and the crowd got the cue to start filtering out.

 _:: Why am I helpin' you all. ::_ she groaned.

 _:: Because you know it's the right thing to do. ::_

 _:: I could go join Megatron…Better raises. ::_

He shook his helm, _:: Then why did the Nequois force them out when they tried to establish here? You might hate Bots but you hate what the 'Cons are doing more. ::_

 _:: I don't hate all 'Bots, ::_ she bumped his knee beneath the table. _:: Don't expect them to cozy up to you right away. ::_ Beryl started quietly, _:: The older two can't stand Autobots. The younger two are undecided. ::_

A smile started to split Kup's cracked derma.

 _:: Don't you dare say it. ::_

He dared. _:: You're going soft, never seen you trust so easily. We're going to interrogate them, see if they know something that will help us. We'll see from there. ::_

 _:: Looks like I'm moving in then. I don't trust y'all not to do somethin' stupid. Still remember my "interrogation". ::_

Before he could argue, she leaned into his faceplate.

 _:: Wanna know how I knew I had new neighbors? I could hear one of em clicking through the floor every other lunar-cycle. They were taking shifts recharging, Kup. Every time I walk in, the femme tenses up like she's ready tah fight. I promised em I'd look after em and I aint about to let you all mess em up more. Why dontcha take care of your own processor-washed cadets? ::_

 _::_ _I am. They're in the cells right next to them for aiding escape_ ," he said shortly. _:: If you don't want them with either faction, what else is there? It's getting divisive out there. ::_

Beryl agreed with a solemn nod, _:: Sooner or later we all make a choice. I just rather when they do it's their own, and not out of owing something. I'm sorry they corrupted your bunch. ::_

 _:: And I get an apology too? Sure you're feeling okay? ::_

 _:: Fine. I know how to take care of sparklings and adults, but the in-between phase is tricky. I walked in on Arcee and HotRod in a full on brawl with knives and everything. ::_

Kup didn't seem the least bit surprised, _:: Who won? ::_

 _:: 'Cee. ::_ She dropped the comm in favor of something more secure. **~ I'm scared for her Kup. She's not good at hiding around 'formers she gets comfortable with.**

 **I told Yoketron, so it's you, me, my mechlings, and Springer, they all know she's a Terror. ~**

 **~ And Roddy? ~**

 **~ Thinks she's normal, no thanks to you. ~** Beryl chided, **~ What did you do to that mechling? ~**

 **~ He's walked in on me, but never asked any questions. ~**

 **~ The kid's dumb. ~**

 **~ He's clever when he wants to be. I just don't think he can keep his mouth shut. ~**

They both watched Blaster help an inebriated 'former out of the basement. Which was strange because they'd been a dry bar ever since "The Incident". Beryl made a mental note to track down the black mech for a talk. As she understood, his designation was Trailbreaker.

Kupdrummed his digits to get her attention again, **~ Got Blaster to do some digging, Cee's old guardian was a beta Preda by the name of Spade. She's been trained as a weapon like that Ops sparkling. "Give them a target and turn them loose" doesn't work so well for Terrors. Predas wear their difference openly. We're made for shadow work and more than one guise, makes for a never-ending supply of food. ~**

She wore a blank look. **~ Kuuuupppp. Ya haven't started back have you? ~**

 **~ I thought you didn't like to pry into other people's business… ~** He evaded, **~ Her guise is failing aint it? ~**

 **~ How'd ya…? ~**

 **~ Saw them underground. ~**

 **~ Did they see you? ~**

 **~ Nope. Something's weird about them, I can just barely see it… and I don't like it. It's not natural. ~** He smirked suddenly, **~ You kept my repair polish and gave it to her. ~**

Beryl cut the line and spoke aloud for the first time in what felt like joors. "Never know when someone will need help. And…for what it's worth I missed your stories."

"If ya promise not to pick a fight with everyone there I might tell you some new ones."

"Please…I'm stubborn, not stupid." She turned on a heel heading out, "It's a deal. See yah at the precinct."


End file.
